The New Hampshire Gazette

A Country Bumpkin and Razor-Seller

Fellow in a market-town
Most musical cried razors up & down
And offer'd twelve for eighteen pence ;
Which certainly seem'd wondrous cheap,
And for the money quite a heap,
As ev'ry man would buy, with cash and
sense.

A country bumpkin the great offer heard :
Poor Hodge, who suffer'd by a broad black
beard,
That seem'd a shoe-brush tuck beneath
his nose.

With cheerfulness the eighteen pence he
paid,
And proudly to himself in whispers said,
This rascal stole the razors, I suppose.

No matter if the fellow be a knave,
Provided that the razors shave ;
It certainly will be a monstrous prize.

So home the clown with his good fortune
went,
Smiling, in heart and soul content,
And quickly soap'd himself to ears and
eyes.

Being well lather'd from a dish or tub,
Hodge now began with grinning pain to
grub,
Just like a hedger cutting furze ;

Twas a vile razor !--then the rest he
tried-
All were impostors.-:Ah !' Hodge sigh'd
I wish my eighteen pence within my
purse.'

In vain to chase his beard, and bring the
gracés,
He cut, and dug. and winc'd, and
stamp'd, and swore :
Brought blood, and danc'd, blasphem'd
and made wry faces,
And curs'd each razor's body o'er & o'er.

His muzzle form'd of opposition stuff,
Firm as a Foxite would not lose its ruff :
So kept it-laughing at the steel & suds:

Hodge, in a passion, stretch'd his angry
jaws,
Vowing the direst vengeance, with clench'd
claws,
On the vile cheat that sold the goods.

Razors !-a damn'd confounded dog-
Not fit to scrape a hog !'

Hodge sought the fellow-found him, and
begun-
'Perhaps, Master Razor-rogue, to you
'tis fun
That people slay themselves out of their
lives :

You rascal-for an hour have I been
grubbing,
Giving my coundrel whiskers here a
scrubbing
With razors just like oyster-knives.

Sirrah ! I tell you, you're a knave,
To cry up razors that can't shave.

" Friend," quoth the razor-man, "I'm
not a knave :
" As for the razors you have bought,
" Upon my soul I never thought
" That they would shave,"

Not think they'd shave !' quoth Hodge.
with wond'ring eyes,
And voice not much unlike an indian yell
What were they made for then, you dog!
he cries :-

" Made !" quoth the fellow, with a smile
"to sell."