Your house of hair, and lady's hand,
At first did put me to a stand.
I have it now--'tis plain enough--
Your hairy business is a muff.
Your engine fraught with cooling gales,
At once so like your masts and sails;
Your thing of various shape and hue
Must be some painted toy, I knew;
And for the rhyme to you're the man,
What fits it better than a fan?