Unsheaths her talons, and prepares to claw.
And sure some gorgets had been torn that day,
But that the Readers voice did part the fray.
Now what a wardrobe could I put to view,
The cloak-bag-breeches, and the sleek-stone shoe,
The Gallimafry cloak that looks like nonsense,
Now wide, now narrow, like his Master’s conscience:
The grogram gown of such antiquity,
That Speed could never finde its pedigree;
Fit to be doted on by Antiquary’s,