Where oil'd fringe flops before!
Ah, 'ARRIET! gracious 'eavens,
How your greased locks do glow!
I swoon! The "hodoration"
(I heard you call it so)
Sickens my senses so;
'Tis "Citronel"—no more,
That scents, like a cheap barber's,
That oil'd fringe hung before.
'ARRIET, my knowing darling,