And that ministers of justice would their living long prevent,
For my toes are packed like sardines in a box.
From one of those detestable individuals who wants everything:
THE BARBER.
The barber with his little chair comes every Saturday,
And after he has shaved us all, he vanishes away.
And once a month he cuts our hair; oh, what an hour of pride!
He cuts so much and well that we all want to go outside.
But when I asked the keeper kind (My, I was awful bold!),
“No, no,” he said, “just see your head, I fear you would catch cold.”