The insolence of duns, and the spurns
That Modistes give to the impecunious,
If I myself might a sensation make
With a cash purchase? Who would old garments wear
And weep and pine under a withered life,
But that the dread of what Papa may say,
The library’s scold, that always
Leaves me sad, puzzles my will;
And makes me rather wear the dress I have,
Than try on others that I wot of?