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 Not caring, so that sumpter-horse, the back
 Be hung with gaudy trappings, in what course
  Yea, rags read more 
 Not caring, so that sumpter-horse, the back
 Be hung with gaudy trappings, in what course
  Yea, rags most beggarly, they clothe the soul. 
 When this old cap was new
 'Tis since two hundred years.  
 When this old cap was new
 'Tis since two hundred years. 
 A vest as admired Voltiger had on,
 Which from this Island's foes his grandsire won,
  Whose artful read more 
 A vest as admired Voltiger had on,
 Which from this Island's foes his grandsire won,
  Whose artful colour pass'd the Tyrian dye,
   Obliged to triumph in this legacy. 
 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 Abram Brown is dead and gone,--
 You'll never see him more;
  He used to wear a read more 
 Old Abram Brown is dead and gone,--
 You'll never see him more;
  He used to wear a long brown coat
   That buttoned down before. 
 See where she comes, apparelled like the spring,
 Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king
  Of read more 
 See where she comes, apparelled like the spring,
 Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king
  Of every virtue gives renown to men! 
 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. 
 Still to be neat, still to be drest,
 As you were going to a feast,
  Still to read more 
 Still to be neat, still to be drest,
 As you were going to a feast,
  Still to be powder'd, all perfum'd.
   Lady, it is to be presumed,
    Though art's hid causes are not found,
     All is not sweet, all is not sound. 
 John Lee is dead, that good old man,--
 We ne'er shall see him more:
  He used to read more 
 John Lee is dead, that good old man,--
 We ne'er shall see him more:
  He used to wear an old drab coat
   All buttoned down before.