THE COMPLAINT OF A BONNET.
I once was a Sunday bonnet
And shaded a lovely face,
But now for some reason or other
I find I'm in disgrace.
And shaded a lovely face,
But now for some reason or other
I find I'm in disgrace.
My fair young mistress treats me
With unrelenting scorn;
Excepting in bad weather
She never puts me on.
With unrelenting scorn;
Excepting in bad weather
She never puts me on.
She took away my bandbox
To shelter her new hat;
She says I am not stylish,
What can she mean by that?
To shelter her new hat;
She says I am not stylish,
What can she mean by that?
She says my rim's too flaring.
And that my crown's too small;
And yet, upon my honor,
I haven't changed at all.
And that my crown's too small;
And yet, upon my honor,
I haven't changed at all.
I am the very bonnet
That she admired so,
And purchased with such pleasure.
But one short year ago.
That she admired so,
And purchased with such pleasure.
But one short year ago.
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