Not caring, so that sumpter-horse, the back Be hung with gaudy trappings, in what course Yea, rags most beggarly, they clothe the soul.

Distrust any enterprise that requires new clothes.

Her polish'd limbs, Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire; Beyond the pomp of dress; for Loveliness Needs not the foreign aid of ornament, But is, when unadorn'd the most.

O fair undress, best dress! it checks no vein, But every flowing limb in pleasure drowns, And heightens ease with grace.

Old Abram Brown is dead and gone,-- You'll never see him more; He used to wear a long brown coat That buttoned down before.

All kin' o' smily round the lips, / An' teary round the lashes.