  or, Oh! why must my face be wash'd so clean, And scrubb'd and drench'd for Sunday, When you know very well (as you've always seen) 'Twill be dirty again on Monday? My hair is stiff with the lathery soap That behind my ears is dripping; And my smarting eyes I'm afraid to ope; And my lip the suds is sipping. They're down my throat, and up my nose— And to choke me you seem to be trying. That I'll shut my mouth you needn't suppose, For how can I keep from crying? And you rub as hard as ever you can— And your hands are hard—to my sorrow; No woman shall wash me when I'm a man— And I wish I was one to-morrow. E. Leslie. Painted by Scharp. Engraved by J. B. Neagle. THE CLEAN FACE. |
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