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She's adorned
Amply, that in her husband's eye looks lovely,--
The truest mirror that an honest wife
read more
She's adorned
Amply, that in her husband's eye looks lovely,--
The truest mirror that an honest wife
Can see her beauty in!
Miss Flora McFlimsey of Madison Square,
Has made three separate journeys to Paris,
And her father assures read more
Miss Flora McFlimsey of Madison Square,
Has made three separate journeys to Paris,
And her father assures me each time she was there
That she and her friend Mrs. Harris . . .
Spent six consecutive weeks, without shopping
In one continuous round of shopping,-- . . .
And yet, though scarce three months have passed since the day
This merchandise went on twelve carts, up Broadway,
This same Miss McFlimsey of Madison Square
The last time we met was in utter despair
Becasue she had nothing whatever to wear.
Thy clothes are all the soul thou hast.
Thy clothes are all the soul thou hast.
Fine clothes are good only as they supply the want of other means
of procuring respect.
Fine clothes are good only as they supply the want of other means
of procuring respect.
Dress drains our cellar dry,
And keeps our larder lean; puts out our fires
And introduces hunger, read more
Dress drains our cellar dry,
And keeps our larder lean; puts out our fires
And introduces hunger, frost, and woe,
Where peace and hospitality might reign.
Her polish'd limbs,
Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire;
Beyond the pomp of dress; for read more
Her polish'd limbs,
Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire;
Beyond the pomp of dress; for Loveliness
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
But is, when unadorn'd the most.
A painted vest Prince Voltiger had on,
Which from a naked Pict his grandsire won.
A painted vest Prince Voltiger had on,
Which from a naked Pict his grandsire won.
A winning wave, (deserving note.)
In the tempestuous petticote,
A careless shoe-string, in whose tye
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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.
(Cloten:) Thou villain base,
Know'st me not by my clothes?
(Guiderius:) No, nor thy tailor, rascal,
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(Cloten:) Thou villain base,
Know'st me not by my clothes?
(Guiderius:) No, nor thy tailor, rascal,
Who is thy grandfather. He made those clothes,
Which, as it seems, make thee.
