Testo Beau Brummel

He steps from the carriage with the air of an Earl, Pausing to smooth his cravat and urfurl himself Like a peacock in a waistcoat of green A Prince of perfection, a cool libertine. He has an eye for the ladies its the one with a gleam, He lives for good taste whether in black or in cream, He will ignore you in ruffles he'll berate you in braid, A Prince of perfection, a beau de brocade. His gambling excusable a gentleman's pursuit, His drinking quite laudible its beyond rebuke, His manners impeccable, decorum with guile, A Prince of perfection, a Sultan of style. Hear his friends - all sneer, Oh, their sharp reville, Hear his friends - all sneer "He sold his soul for style".