In ev’ry vainest garb. Their native strength
To soften and impair, they gaily choose
A flowing scarf, not made of wool from sheep,
But of those fleeces from the Eastern world,
The spoil of trees. Their hardy frame they deck
All o’er with tesselated spots: and art
Is added, that the threads, twice dyed with herbs,
May sportively intwine their various hues
And mimic forms, within the yielding warp.
Whatever creature wears the softest down,