Fit to wear her rich liveries.
There's one who has a squinting eye—
I know full well she'll pass him by;
On one poor rogue she'll turn her back
Because his frightful beard is black;
Another will not eat her bread
Because his frizzled crop is red;
These are too weak,—and those too strong,
And some an inch too short or long:
She'll take the best-made of the bunch,