It's like sending them ruffles, when wanting a shirt.
The nakedness of the indigent world may be clothed from the trimmings of the vain.
Old Grimes is dead, that good old man,
We ne'er shall see him more;
He used to wear a long black coat
All button'd down before.
Old Rose is dead, that good old man,
We ne'er shall see him more;
He used to wear an old blue coat
All buttoned down before.
Old Abram Brown is dead and gone,—
You'll never see him more;
He used to wear a long brown coat
That buttoned down before.
John Lee is dead, that good old man,—
We ne'er shall see him more:
He used to wear an old drab coat
All buttoned down before.
A sweet disorder in the dresse
Kindles in cloathes a wantonnesse.
A winning wave, (deserving note,)
In the tempestuous petticote,
A careless shoe-string, in whose tye
I see a wilde civility,—
Doe more bewitch me than when art
Is too precise in every part.
It is not linen you're wearing out,
But human creatures' lives.
A vest as admired Voltiger had on,
Which from this Island's foes his grandsire won,
Whose artful colour pass'd the Tvrian dye,
Obliged to triumph in this legacy.
A painted vest Prince Voltiger had on,
Which from a naked Pict his grandsire won.
They were attempting to put on
Raiment from naked bodies won.
After all there is something about a wedding-gown prettier than in any other gown in the world.
Fine clothes are good only as they supply the want of other means of procuring respect.
Apes are apes though clothed in scarlet.
Still to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast,
Still to be powdertf, still perfum'd.
Lady, it is to be presumed,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Each Bond-street buck conceits, unhappy elf;
He shows his clothes! alas! he shows himself.
O that they knew, these overdrest self-lovers,
What hides the body oft the mind discovers.
Neat, not gaudy.
Dwellers in huts and in marble halls—
From Shepherdess up to Queen—
Cared little for bonnets, and less for shawls,
And nothing for crinoline.
But now simplicity's not the rage,
And it's funny to think how cold
The dress they wore in the Golden Age
Would seem in the Age of Gold.
Not caring, so that sumpter-horse, the back
Be hung with gaudy trappings, in what course
Yea, rags most beggarly, they clothe the soul.
Let thy attyre bee comely, but not costly.
In naked beauty more adorned
More lovely than Pandora.
Be plain in dress, and sober in your diet;
In short, my deary, kiss me! and be quiet.
When this old cap was new
'Tis since two hundred years.
