Ode to the Fashions.
When Fancy, heavenly maid, was young,
And roved the hills and dales among,
The Fashions, to produce a swell,
Would throng around her magic cell,
Exulting, strutting, almost fainting,
Possessed beyond e’en Planché’s painting,
By turns they showed creative mind
In costumes curiously designed,
When all at once, they all desired,