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| MISS TABITHA TOWZER is fair, | |
| No guinea pig ever was neater, | |
| Like a hakmatak slender and spare, | |
| And sweet as a mush-squash, or sweeter. | |
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| Miss Tabitha Towzer is sleek, | 5 |
| When dress’d in her pretty new tucker, | |
| Like an otter that paddles the creek, | |
| In quest of a mud-pout, or sucker. | |
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| Her forehead is smooth as a tray, | |
| Ah! smoother than that, on my soul, | 10 |
| And turn’d, as a body may say, | |
| Like a delicate neat wooden-bowl. | |
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| To what shall I liken her hair, | |
| As straight as a carpenter’s line, | |
| For similes sure must be rare, | 15 |
| When we speak of a nymph so divine. | |
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| Not the head of a Nazarite seer, | |
| That never was shaven or shorn. | |
| Nought equals the locks of my dear, | |
| But the silk of an ear of green corn. | 20 |
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| My dear has a beautiful nose, | |
| With a sled-runner crook in the middle, | |
| Which one would be led to suppose | |
| Was meant for the head of a fiddle. | |
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| Miss Tabby has two pretty eyes, | 25 |
| Glass buttons shone never so bright, | |
| Their love-lighted lustre outvies | |
| The lightning-bug’s twinkle by night. | |
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| And oft with a magical glance, | |
| She makes in my bosom a pother, | 30 |
| When leering politely askance, | |
| She shuts one, and winks with the other. | |
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| The lips of my charmer are sweet, | |
| As a hogshead of maple molasses, | |
| And the ruby-red tint of her cheek, | 35 |
| The gill of a salmon surpasses. | |
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| No teeth like her’s ever were seen, | |
| Nor ever described in a novel, | |
| Of a beautiful kind of pea-green, | |
| And shaped like a wooden-shod-shovel. | 40 |
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| Her fine little ears, you would judge, | |
| Were wings of a bat in perfection; | |
| A dollar I never should grudge | |
| To put them in Peale’s grand collection. | |
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| Description must fail in her chin, | 45 |
| At least till our language is richer; | |
| Much fairer than ladle of tin, | |
| Or beautiful brown earthern pitcher. | |
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| So pretty a neck, I ’ll be bound, | |
| Never join’d head and body together, | 50 |
| Like nice crook’d-neck’d squash on the ground, | |
| Long whiten’d by winter-like weather. | |
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| Should I set forth the rest of her charms, | |
| I might by some phrase that’s improper, | |
| Give modesty’s bosom alarms, | 55 |
| Which I would n’t do for a copper. | |
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| Should I mention her gait or her air, | |
| You might think I intended to banter; | |
| She moves with more grace you would swear, | |
| Than a founder’d horse forced to a canter. | 60 |
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| She sang with a beautiful voice, | |
| Which ravish’d you out of your senses; | |
| A pig will make just such a noise | |
| When his hind leg stuck fast in the fence is. | |
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