Note 20 — Chapter IV · 1816.

Adieu, my dear Whiskers! dear Whiskers, adieu! I ne'er shall love Whiskers, as I have lov'd you. So becoming your form, and so brilliant your hue, I ne'er admir'd Whiskers, as I've admir'd you. Your curve was so lovely, so like a horse shoe, Not a whisker at Court was so lovely as you. The Baron Geramb's[20] were immense it is true, But they didn't sweep round half so tasty as you, Y—— ——'s[21] Whiskers comprise hair enough for a head, But odious the shape, and the colour is red. Of beauty, 'tis known, that the line is a curve, Then the prize of all beauty you surely deserve; For in curve so enchanting you lay on my chin, You completely eclipsed all the blubber within. Not Ganymede's self, when he waited on Jove, Looked the model so like of the young God of Love; Not Apollo the bright, nor Adonis the fair, Were like, my dear whiskers—adorn'd to a hair! Not drooping Narcissus, reclin'd o'er the stream, Himself the dear object, himself the dear theme, Was more charm'd with his face, thus presented to view, Than I've been with mine, when encircl'd with you. ... ..."