Classic Poem

Because one curl had come unbound
I hear you took your glass
And called your maid, and to the ground
Struck down the hapless lass.

Cease, madam, pray, your hair to tire
And fill your girls with terror.
A razor is what you require
To make you like your mirror.

Why should they your caprice obey,
And to your fancies pander.
Cut all those cruel locks away,
Or touch a salamander.