Where's the rouge gone, this cheek were better for
A tender touch of? Melted to a mass,
All my pomatum! There 's at all events
A devil—for he's got among my scents!"
CXXXVI
So, "barbered ten times o'er," as Antony
Paced to his Cleopatra, did at last
Voltaire proceed to the fair presence: high
In color, proud in port, as if a blast
Of trumpet bade the world "Take note! draws nigh