Her dearest friends for being drest so ill.
One had false curls, another too much paint,
A third—where did she buy that frightful turban?
A fourth's so pale she fears she's going to faint,
A fifth's look's vulgar, dowdyish, and suburban,
A sixth's white silk has got a yellow tint,
A seventh's thin muslin surely will be her bane,
And lo! an eighth appears,—I'll see no more!
For fear, like Banquo's kings, they reach a score.
Beppo.