 | The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth |  |
THE EXPERT FRISEUR.
The other day, a certain beau,Before he could a courting go,
Must needs be dressed; so off he flew
To the first shop that met his view.
“Come, barber,” he exclaims in haste,
“Display for once a little taste;
Exert your powers, and do n't be stupid,
But make me pretty as a Cupid.
Consult my visage now with care,
And to my looks adapt my hair.”
The man, a master of his trade,
His best abilities displayed;
And Cupid from his chair arose,
A finished beauty—we suppose;
Approached the glass, his visage spied,
Then turning to the barber, cried—
“Is this your boasted taste?—for shame!
Such dressing do n't deserve the name;
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Looks like the very devil, master.”
The barber, in a humble tone,
Replied, “Dear sir, the fault 's your own,
You bade me view your face with care,
And to your looks adapt your hair.”
| The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth | |