At yonder ball, a slovenly band,
I see them sit; they linger yet
Avengers of fair Nature’s hand;
With me in dreadful resolution join
To crop with one accord, and starve thy cursed line.
“Weave the warp, and weave the woof,
The winding sheet of barber’s race,
Give ample room and verge enough
Their lengthen’d lanthorn jaws to trace.
Mark the year, and mark the night,