The New Hampshire Gazette And Historical Chronicle

A new-fashion'd Trimming for the modern Caps:

ATTEND, ye Fair, to what my muse imparts,
And learn to whet your leaden-pointed darts;
And thou, all-pow'rful goddess, to whose charms
The stubborn bend, the hero yields his arms,
Who in the works of Nature foremost shine,
And who in art bespeaks it most divine,
Who in the vernal landscape steals the eye;
And fills th'enraptur'd soul with ecstasy,
Who in the poet's song art wont to play,
Or from the canvas dart the bright'ning ray;
And who of late was chiefly pleas'd to grace
The fair, and dwell upon their conqu'ring face--
Do thou, O Beauty! to my aid descend.
And for th'unequal task assistance lend;
Grant me, thy suppliant devotee, to know
The cause from whence effects so wond'rous flow:
Teach me why Nature doubly arm'd the fair
With charms, to captivate the unaware,
And yet endow'd them with unnumber'd arts,
T'improve those charms which she herself imparts.
O! deign propitious to inspire my lays,
Thus from the fair I'll gain immortal bays,
Whil'st, arduous in their cause, I take the wing
Of Fancy, and the various fashions sing;
Whether the well wrought petticoat extends
Its concave surface, and on all sides bends,
Like an horizon round a cyprian grove,
Or Proteus-like, the temple still of love,
Contracts its size, in different shapes appears,
In diff'rent forms, and each new beauty wears;
Whether the well made negligées, inclin'd
In trailing slope by half their length behind,
With taste judicious Nature's faults conceal,
Which all must grant imprudent to reveal;
Or now in gowns short, delicate and neat,
Just indicate the frame above compleat.
But most my unaffisted pen doth fear
T'attempt th' improvements that of late appear
Conspicuous in the capping art to shine,
It needs the whole assistance of the nine;
For who, unless inspir'd, will dare relate
Th'amazing length, breadth, thickness, depth and height
The various shape and size of modern tow'rs,
Rearing with folds on folds, or branching flow'rs?
So looks the western sky, when from the clouds
The sage, predicting, storms of snow forebodes;
Or so the hoary mountains, wav'd with nods,
When sons of Titan bore the mighty loads;
To-day full orb'd, then waning like the moon,
A head at nine's not half a head at noon.
But hold, my muse, for now 'tis all the mode,
(And what's not handsome that is from abroad?)
To wear the new French caps both day and night,
And something more than fashion proves it right.
Behold the fair Miranda's morning face,
Where Cupids us'd to play with finest grace,
Incircled with the low'ring Gallic shrouds,
As the dim sun peeps through the eastern clouds,
And sheds a hazy light upon the day,
Could ever human art more charms display?
Besides it saves the fair much time and mart,
The matted consequence of barber's art,
Of tongs, wire, comb, pomatum and machines,
With magic touch untangles, smooths and cleans.
Yet Fancy, ever painting what's conceal'd,
Will search, and what she finds is straight reveal'd--
But whist my muse, don't let's a word declare
Of what we've seen---what is, or is not there,
For we are still devoted to the fair;
Yes, rather let us some new art devise
T' improve the Cap, and shew that Fancy lies:
Hear then, ye fair, nor scorn to lend an ear,
For sovereign Beauty dictates what you hear;
"Add a choice ribbon of the purest white,
"Half round the Cap without a spot of red,
"Distinct, in tinseI'd letters, on it write,
"This Day, ye Vulgar, I have comb'd my Head."