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 | ||