What I felt was the havoc a single half hour,
Had made with my costly new Hat.
For the Boot, tho’ its lustre be dimm’d, shall assume
Fresh sprightliness after a while:
But what art may restore its original bloom,
When once it hath flown, to the Tile?
I clomb to my perch, and the horses (a bay
And a brown) trotted off with a clatter:
The Driver look’d round in his affable way
And said huskily, “Who is your hatter?”