Her waist confining, seems to waste consigned.
On those red coats, ten buttons meet the view;
Ten plated buttons; ten divide by two,
It leaves you five, and five we know would do.
These five, if sold, would buy yon lad a hat,
Provide a dinner, and a tea to that.
——:o:——
A Melody. (Moorish.)
(Thomas Moore.)
“The Moor, I know his trumpet!”—Othello.