Classic Poem

Clarissa draws her scissors from their case
To shape the lines of poor Dan Jackson's face.
One sloping cut made forehead, nose and chin;
A nick produced a mouth and made him grin,
Such as in tailor's measure you have seen.
But still were wanting his grimalkin eyes,
For which grey worsted stockings paint supplies.
Th' unravelled thread, through needle's eye conveyed,
Transferred itself into the pasteboard head.
How came the scissors to be thus outdone?
The needle had an eye, and they had none.
O wondrous force of art! Now look at Dan:
You'd swear the pasteboard was the better man.
“The dev'l,” says he, “the head is not so full!”
Indeed it is—behold the paper skull.
Tho: Sheridan sculpsit.