(O, Rowland, great for oil and Kalydor;)
Whose tiresome ringlets will not keep in curl,
Tho’ they’re with hair-pins skewer’d o’er and o’er.
In vain at eve I paper them with care,
At morn releasing them in due array;
Ere breakfast’s done all loose and limp they are,
And I’ve to curl them twenty times a day.
’Mid the parade’s attractions could I show?
Dank and dishevell’d will my ringlets be;
I know the Captain doesn’t like bandeaux,