Classic Poem

THE CELEBRATED ASTRONOMER .

With awe I look on that peruke,
Where Learning is a lodger,
And think, whene'er I see that hair
Which now you wear, some ladye fair
Had worn it once, dear Roger!

On empty skull most beautiful
Appeared, no doubt, those locks,
Once the bright grace of pretty face;
Now far more proud to be allowed
To deck thy " knowledge-box. "

Condemned to pass before the glass
Whole hours each blessed morning,
'Twas desperate long, with curling-tong
And tortoise-shell, to have a belle
Thee frizzing and adorning.

Bright ringlets set as in a net,
To catch us men like fishes!
Your every lock concealed a stock
Of female wares — love's pensive cares,
Vain dreams, and futile wishes!

That chevelure has caused, I'm sure,
Full many a lover's quarrel;
Then it was decked with flowers select
And myrtle-sprig: but now a WIG ,
'Tis circled with a laurel!

Where fresh and new at first they grew,
Of whims, and tricks, and fancies,
Those locks at best were but a nest: —
Their being spread on learned head
Vastly their worth enhances.

From flowers exempt, uncouth, unkempt —
Matted, entangled, thick!
Mourn not the loss of curl or gloss —
'Tis infra dig . Thou ART THE WIG
O F R OGER B OSCOVICH !