AND why an honour'd ragged shirt, that shows, Like tatter'd ensigns, all its body's blows? Should it be swathed in a vest so dire, It were enough to set the child on fire; Dishevell'd queens should strip them of their hair, And in it mantle the new rising heir: Nor do I know aught worth to wrap it in, Except my parchment upper-coat of skin: And then expect no end of its chaste tears, That first was roll'd in down, now furs of bears. But since to ladies 't hath a custom been Linen to send, that travail and lie in; To the nine sempstresses, my former friends, I su'd, but they had naught but shreds and ends. At last, the jolli'st of the three times three Rent th' apron from her smock, and gave it me; 'Twas soft and gentle, subtly spun, no doubt: Pardon my boldness, madam: @3here's the clout.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HATCHING; FOR DAW AUNG SAN SUU KYI by KAREN SWENSON THE STENOGRAPHERS by PATRICIA KATHLEEN PAGE CRYING, 'THALASSUS!' by JOSEPH AUSLANDER NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 15 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF HANNAH MORE'S WORKS by ROBERT BURNS |