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The Golden Treasury

of the best songs and lyrical poems in the English Language

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96

CXXI
[THE POETRY OF DRESS]

3

My Love in her attire doth shew her wit,
It doth so well become her:
For every season she hath dressings fit,
For Winter, Spring, and Summer.
No beauty she doth miss
When all her robes are on:
But Beauty's self she is
When all her robes are gone.
Anon.