@3Prologue@1 MY Boots had been wash'd -- well wash'd -- in a show'r; But little I griev'd about that: What I felt was the havock 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?" I was pleas'd that he'd notic'd its shape and its shine, And as soon as we reached the @3Old Druid@1 I begg'd that he'd drink to my new Four-and-nine In a glass of his favourite Fluid. A gratified smile sat, I own, on my lips When the Landlady called to the Master (He was standing hard by with his hands on his hips) To "look at the gentleman's Castor!" I laugh'd, as an Organ-man paus'd in mid-air ('Twas an air that I happen'd to know By a great foreign Maestro) expressly to stare At @3ze gent wiz ze joli chapeau.@1 Yet how swift is the transit from laughter to tears! Our glories, how fleeting are they! That Hat might (with care) have adorned me for years; But 'twas ruin'd, alack, in a Day! How I lov'd thee, my Bright One! I wrench in Remorse My hands from my Coat-tail and wring 'em: "Why did not I, why, as a matter of course, When I purchas'd thee, purchase a Gingham!" |