A vest as admired Voltiger had on, Which from this Island's foes his grandsire won, Whose artful colour pass'd the Tyrian dye, Obliged to triumph in this legacy.

Around his form his loose long robe was thrown, And wrapt a breast bestowed on heaven alone.

Who seems most hideous when adorned the most. [Lat., Che quant' era piu ornata, era piu brutta.]

After all there is something about a wedding-gown prettier than in any other gown in the world.

A winning wave, (deserving note.) In the tempestuous petticote, A careless shoe-string, in whose tye I see a wilde civility,-- Doe more bewitch me than when art Is too precise in every part.

A sweet disorder in the dresse Kindles in cloathes a wantonnesse.