Here, great Lavater! here thy science stands
Confess’d, and proved by more than mortal hands.
Though o’er his features Nature’s skill we see,
Her deepest secrets are disclosed through thee.
The green-tinged eye, curl’d lip, and lowering brows,
Which malice harrows, and which treachery ploughs,
In deep sunk furrows on his front we find,
Tilling the crops that thrive in Sandy’s mind.
No soft sensations can that face impart;
No gratitude springs glowing from the heart;