Classic Poem

That his eyebrows were false—that his hair
Was assumed, I was fully aware;
I knew his moustache of a barber was bought
And that Cartwright provided his teeth;—but I thought
That his heart was, at least, true and fair!

I saw that the exquisite glow,
Spreading over the cheek of my beau,
From a carmine-shell came;—and I often was told,
That his “gras de la jambe,” by the tailor was sold;
I dreamed not his love was but show!

I was sure, I could easily tell,
That the form, which deluded each belle,
Was made over his own;—but I could not believe,
That his flattering tongue, too, was taught to deceive;
That his fortune was humbug, as well!

I had made up my mind to dispense
With a figure, hair, teeth, heart and sense—
“La jambe” I'd o'erlook, were it ever so small!
But to think that he is not a Count, after all,
That's a not-to-be pardoned offence!