What a fine man
Hath your tailor made you!

What a fine man
Hath your tailor made you!

Thy clothes are all the soul thou hast.

Thy clothes are all the soul thou hast.

King Stephen was a worthy peere,
His breeches cost him but a crowne;
He held them sixpence read more

King Stephen was a worthy peere,
His breeches cost him but a crowne;
He held them sixpence all too deere,
Therefore he call'd the taylor lowne.

All his reverend wit
Lies in his wardrobe.

All his reverend wit
Lies in his wardrobe.

'Tis not the robe or garment I affect;
For who would marry with a suit of clothes?

'Tis not the robe or garment I affect;
For who would marry with a suit of clothes?

(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.

Sister, look ye,
How, by a new creation of my tailor's
I've shook off old mortality.

Sister, look ye,
How, by a new creation of my tailor's
I've shook off old mortality.

Thy gown? Why, ay--come, tailor, let us see't.
O mercy, God, what masquing stuff is there?
What's read more

Thy gown? Why, ay--come, tailor, let us see't.
O mercy, God, what masquing stuff is there?
What's this, a sleeve? 'Tis like a demi-cannon.
What, up and down carved like an apple tart?
Here's snip and nip and cut and slish and slash,
Like to a censer in a barber's shop.
Why, what's a devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this?

Get me some French tailor
To new-create you.

Get me some French tailor
To new-create you.