The ancient and honorable.
With sharpen'd sight pale Antiquaries pore,
Th' inscription value, out the rust adore.
This the blue varnish, that the green endears;
The sacred rust of twice ten hundred years.
My copper-lamps, at any rate,
For being true antique, I bought;
Yet wisely melted down my plate,
On modern models to be wrought;
And trifles I alike pursue,
Because they're old, because they're new.
Remove not the ancient landmark.
There is nothing new except that which has become antiquated.
Nor rough, nor barren, are the winding ways
Of hoar Antiquity, but strewn with flowers.
APPAREL
(See also Fashion)
Che quant' era pnl ornata, era piu brutta.
Who seems most hideous when adorned the most.
Thy clothes are all the soul thou hast.
To a woman, the consciousness of being well dressed gives a sense of tranquillity which religion fails to bestow.
To treat a poor wretch with a bottle of Burgundy, and fill his snuff-box, is like giving a pair of laced ruffles to a man that has never a shirt on his back.
Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new.
His locked, lettered, braw brass collar,
Shewed him the gentleman and scholar.
And said to myself, as I lit my cigar,
"Supposing a man had the wealth of the Czar
Of the Russias to boot, for the rest of his days,
On the whole do you think he would have much to spare
If he married a woman with nothing to wear?"
Wm. Allen Butler—Nothing to Wear.
But I do mean to say, I have heard her declare,
When at the same moment she had on a dress
Which cost five hundred dollars, and not a cent less,
And jewelry worth ten times more, I should guess,
That she had not a thing in the wide world to wear!
Dresses for breakfasts, and dinners, and balls.
Dresses to sit in, and stand in, and walk in;
Dresses to dance in, and flirt in, and talk in,
Dresses in which to do nothing at all;
Dresses for Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall;
All of them different in color and shape.
Silk, muslin, and lace, velvet, satin, and crape,
Brocade and broadcloth, and other material,
Quite as expensive and much more ethereal.
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 stopping
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
Because she had nothing whatever to wear.
Around his form his loose long robe was thrown,
And wrapt a breast bestowed on heaven alone.
Dress drains our cellar dry,
And keeps our larder lean; puts out our fires
And introduces hunger, frost, and woe,
Where peace and hospitality might reign.
Beauty when most unclothed is clothed best.
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.
They stript Joseph out of his coat, his coat of many colours.
A night-cap deck'd his brows instead of bay,
A cap by night,—a stocking all the day.
