Fare you well, my lord, and believe this of me: there can be no
kernel in this light nut; read more

Fare you well, my lord, and believe this of me: there can be no
kernel in this light nut; the soul of this man is his clothes.
Trust him not in matter of heavy consequence.

Old Rose is dead, that good old man,
We ne'er shall see him more;
He used to read more

Old Rose is dead, that good old man,
We ne'er shall see him more;
He used to wear an old blue coat
All buttoned down before.

He that is proud of the rustling of his silks, like a madman,
laughs at the ratling of his read more

He that is proud of the rustling of his silks, like a madman,
laughs at the ratling of his fetters. For indeed, Clothes ought
to be our remembrancers of our lost innocency.

When this old cap was new
'Tis since two hundred years.

When this old cap was new
'Tis since two hundred years.

Let thy attyre bee comely, but not costly.

Let thy attyre bee comely, but not costly.

He will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a color she
abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion she read more

He will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a color she
abhors, and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and he will
smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her
disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it
cannot but turn him into a notable contempt.

He was a wight of high renowne,
And thosne but of a low degree;
Itt's pride that read more

He was a wight of high renowne,
And thosne but of a low degree;
Itt's pride that putts the countrye downe,
Man, take thine old cloake about thee.

If most of us are ashamed of shabby clothes and shoddy furniture,
let us be more ashamed of shabby read more

If most of us are ashamed of shabby clothes and shoddy furniture,
let us be more ashamed of shabby ideas and shoddy
philosophies. . . . It would be a sad situation if the wrapper
were better than the meat wrapped inside it.

Miss Flora McFlimsey of Madison Square,
Has made three separate journeys to Paris,
And her father assures read more

Miss Flora McFlimsey of Madison Square,
Has made three separate journeys to Paris,
And her father assures me each time she was there
That she and her friend Mrs. Harris . . .
Spent six consecutive weeks, without shopping
In one continuous round of shopping,-- . . .
And yet, though scarce three months have passed since the day
This merchandise went on twelve carts, up Broadway,
This same Miss McFlimsey of Madison Square
The last time we met was in utter despair
Becasue she had nothing whatever to wear.