|Share page||Visit Us On FB|
154 THE HEADS.
Ye ladies—I would not offend for the world,
Whose bright heads, and light heads, are feather'd and
curl'd; The mighty dimensions dame Nature surprise, To find she'd so grossly mistaken the size.
And ye petit-maitres, your heads I might spare, Encumber'd with nothing—but powder and hair; Who vainly disgrace the true monkey race, By transplanting the tail from its own native place.
Enough might be said, durst I venture my rhymes, On crown'd heads, and round heads, of these modern
times; This slippery path let me cautiously tread— The neck else may answer, perhaps, for the head.
The heads of the church, and the heads of the state, Have taught much, and wrought much,—too much to
repeat; On the neck of corruption uplifted, 'tis said, Some rulers, alas! are too high by the head.