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Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy,
For read more
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy,
For the apparel oft proclaims the man,
And they in France of the best rank and station
Are of a most select and generous chief in that.
My galligaskins, that have long withstood
The winter's fury, and encroaching frosts,
By time subdues (what will read more
My galligaskins, that have long withstood
The winter's fury, and encroaching frosts,
By time subdues (what will not time subdue!)
An horrid chasm disclosed.
Dwellers in huts and in marble halls--
From Shepherdess up to Queen--
Cared little for bonnets, and read more
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.
And now, my honey love,
Will we return unto thy father's house
And revel it as bravely read more
And now, my honey love,
Will we return unto thy father's house
And revel it as bravely as the best,
With silken coats and caps and golden rings,
With ruffs and cuffs and farthingales and things;
With scarfs and fans and double change of brav'ry,
With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knav'ry.
A sweet disorder in the dresse
Kindles in cloathes a wantonnesse.
A sweet disorder in the dresse
Kindles in cloathes a wantonnesse.
Old Grimes is dead, that good old man,
We ne'er shall see him more;
He used to read more
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.
Thy clothes are all the soul thou hast.
Thy clothes are all the soul thou hast.
He was a wight of high renowne,
And thosne but of a low degree;
Itt's pride that read more
He was a wight of high renowne,
And thosne but of a low degree;
Itt's pride that putts the countrye downe,
Man, take thine old cloake about thee.
(Cloten:) Thou villain base,
Know'st me not by my clothes?
(Guiderius:) No, nor thy tailor, rascal,
read more
(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.