The RazorSeller

John Wolcot

A fellow in a markettown, most musical, cried razors up and down, and offer'd twelve for eighteen pence：

Which certainly seem'd wondrous cheap, And for the money quite a heap, As every man would buy, with cash and sense．A country bumpkin the great offer heard；Poor Hodge, who suffer'd by a thick black beard,Thst seem'd a shoebrush stuck beneath his nose：With cheerfulness the eighteenpence 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 sartinly will be a monstrous prize．"

So home the clown, with his good fortune wentAnd 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 imposters—"Ah!" Hodge sigh'd, "I wish my eighteenpence within my purse．"

In vain to chase his beard,and bring the graces, He cut, and dug, and winc'd,and stamp'd,and swore,Brought blood, and danc'd, blasphem'd, and made wryfaces, And curs'd each razor's body o'er and o'er：His muzzle, form'd of opposition stuff, Firm as a Foxite, would not loose its ruff；So kept it laughing at the steel and 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 fellowfound him, and begun "P'rhaps,Master Razorrogue,to you'tis fun That people flay themselves out of their lives：You rascal! for an hour have I been grubbing, Giving my scoundrel 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 razorman, I am no 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 wondering 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．"

剃須刀販子

約翰·沃爾科特

在一個(gè)集鎮(zhèn)上有一個(gè)家伙， 韻味十足地，到處叫賣(mài)剃須刀， 十二片只賣(mài)十八便士：

那當(dāng)然像是便宜得出奇，而這點(diǎn)兒錢(qián)就能買(mǎi)一大堆， 只要他有錢(qián)又有頭腦,每個(gè)男人都會(huì)買(mǎi)。一個(gè)鄉(xiāng)巴佬聽(tīng)到了這大賤賣(mài)， 可憐的莊稼漢，苦于一把濃密黑胡子，那就像鼻子底下長(zhǎng)了把鞋刷子：

興高采烈他付了十八便士， 然后驕傲地自語(yǔ)，壓低嗓子：

“我看，這小子的剃須刀準(zhǔn)是偷來(lái)的?！安还苓@家伙是不是個(gè)無(wú)賴(lài)， 只要這剃刀刮得快：

那肯定好得不得了?！?

那鄉(xiāng)巴佬回了家，帶著他的好運(yùn)氣， 飛快地給自己抹了滿(mǎn)臉?lè)试砼荨?

用一碟或一桶肥皂把臉抹好， 莊稼漢現(xiàn)在開(kāi)始拔除臉上雜草， 痛得他齜牙咧嘴，就像修籬人在砍伐荊棘：這片剃刀糟透了！——然后又把其他的試一試全都是騙子——“唉！”莊稼漢嘆了一口氣， “我希望我的十八便士還在我的錢(qián)包里?！蓖絼诘冂P除他的胡子，把自己修體面，他又割又挖，疼得縮脖、跺腳又發(fā)誓，刮出了血，他蹦跳、咒罵又是做苦臉，一遍遍地罵著每一片剃刀：

他的嘴臉，鑄造自抗體材料， 堅(jiān)固如?？怂沟淖冯S者，不肯摘下皺領(lǐng)那就留著它——嘲笑剃須刀和肥皂泡：莊稼漢，一怒之下，繃緊他憤怒的雙唇，緊握拳頭，對(duì)著那賣(mài)貨的壞蛋騙子，發(fā)誓要報(bào)這個(gè)大恨深仇。

“剃須刀片！該死的、討厭的狗， 連刮個(gè)豬毛都不合適！”

莊稼漢去找那家伙——找到他，開(kāi)了腔——“也許，剃須刀無(wú)賴(lài)師傅，對(duì)你來(lái)講叫別人喪命是件有趣的事：

你這個(gè)惡棍！我刮了一個(gè)小時(shí)， 用那些像牡蠣刀一樣的剃須刀 把我惡棍一樣的絡(luò)腮胡子清掃。

小子！我告訴你，你是個(gè)無(wú)賴(lài)， 不能用的剃須刀也拿來(lái)叫賣(mài)?！?

“朋友，”剃須刀販子說(shuō)：“我不是無(wú)賴(lài)：說(shuō)到你買(mǎi)的剃須刀 我真的從沒(méi)想到 它們能刮下胡子來(lái)?！薄皼](méi)想到它們能用！”莊稼漢說(shuō)，眼里閃著驚奇，聲音頗像一個(gè)印第安人的叫嚷；

“那你做它們干什么，你這條狗？”他喊?！白觯　蹦羌一镂⑿χf(shuō)——“就是為了賣(mài)?！?/P>

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