Go not to marts of costly show
1
To clothe those limbs so round and fair,
But let us to the woodlands go—
I'll find you prettier things to wear,
Hung in a magic wardrobe there;
5
Garlands to frame your fairy face,
And misty lawns as fine as air,
And for your petticoat Queen's Lace.
Soft draperies of virgin snow,
9
If you must hide that bosom rare,
Whiter than Helen's long ago—
'Twere kinder, love, to leave it bare,
Dimmed only by your falling hair,—
13
Yet, if you must deny that grace,
Lo! veils of filmiest gossamer—
And for your petticoat Queen's Lace.
And flounce and frill and furbelow,
17
Quaint dimity and diaper,
The fairy artists shape and sew;
Here's silk-weed for your stomacher,
And round that sweet diameter
21
Yclept your waist this girdle place—
Dianace wore the same I swear!
And for your petticoat Queen's Lace.
Princess, and ladies everywhere,
25
Fashion but ill your form displays;
Nature's your best costumier—
And for your petticoat Queen's Lace.