DO you wish that your face should

be fair?

That your cheek should be rosy

and plump?

Morning noontide and night

Take a dip in the bright

Wave that flows from the spout of

the pump,—

From a Pump!—

Not a dump

Do we care for the lily

Pick'd in Piccadilly,

Or grown by the "Camphorate Lump."

Do you sigh for ambrosial hair?

For clustering ringlets to match?

Little goose!

To the deuce

With pommades—learn the use

Of the BRUSH, and you'll soon have a thatch

That shall 'catch'

The moustachio'd amasser

Of Rowland's Macassar,

(At twenty-five shillings a batch).

Is it ivory teeth you desire?

A set that no dentist may trammel?

To Rowland's O-dont-o

Cry, "No that we won't O!

"It softens the precious enamel!"

(That Schamyl

Sends packing, confound it,

To the Sultan Mahound. (It

'S au naturel, perch'd on a Camel))

Then toy not with powder and paste!

Sweet nymphs, they are deadliest foes;

No Piver persuade you—

No Rowland invade you—

In peace let each dimple repose

Where it grows!

When he shows

You his Kalydor Lotion

Reply "We've a notion

"It takes all the skin off one's nose!"

(As he goes)

Add "There's nothing can beat your's

"For blist'ring the features

"But, 'Atkinson's Milk of the Rose!"'