And really like such vulgar play?
At least you’ll dirt or spoil your frock,
If longer you presume to stay.”
“Hey-day!” quoth Richard in reply,
“I really know not my offence—
What! does the dirt on this dry hay,
The dirt, Miss Flavia, drive you hence?
The feathers in your cap, indeed,
I had not notic’d much before;
And the red shoes so bright and gay,