O, men, with mothers to please!
It is not for them my portraits are bought,
But for dearer far than these!
Snip! snip! snip!
With a point as keen as a dart,
Carving at once a likeness to suit,
And a place in the loved one's heart.
"But why do I talk of her?
The fair one of unknown name,
I hardly think she could tell the face,