Stride my back-comb, or stalk with cat-like tread
Along the parting? Let me pause, and think
How much respect to chemistry be due—
For who would bear the sneers and up-turned nose
Of female friend, the criticising eye
Of street-cad,—when (as all the papers tell)
She can herself the remedy procure
For thirteen stamps—but that a hazy dread
Of something that may happen cramps the will,
And knowledge makes a coward of the purse?