When we have soused, and wet a whole month’s cloaths,
Must make us pause!—There’s the respect
That makes a muslin gown be worn so long:—
For who would bear the dingy-looking tail,
The crumpled ruff, the chair-press’d, crease-mark’d shawl;
Dance-dusted turban, or, trod Turkish robe;
The oft’ turned petticoat, kerchief and hose
Which tho’ well-coak’d within the shoe—will peep;
When she herself might mend appearances
By a soap-lather:—Who’d white bonnets wear