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Nay, I am wrong again. I thought
But you amuse me—
Still her dress,—
Her dress at least, you must confess
Is odious simply! JACOTOT
Did not supply that lace, I know;
"Myrtilla (lest a Scandal rise
The Lady's Name I thus disguise),
Much on Resource herself she prided,—
I know not: only this I know;—
'Content' at once she cast aside.
'Simplicity,'-'twas out of place;
Then, on a sudden, she espied
One that she thought she had not tried:
Becoming, rather,--edged with green,'
Roses in yellow, Thorns between.
"Quick! Bring me that!' 'Tis brought. Complete, Divine, Enchanting, Tasteful, Neat,'
In all the Tones. And this you call—?' """ILL-NATURE," Madame. It fits all.''
A thousand thanks! So naïvely turned !
So useful too... to those concerned!
Ah no,—some cynic wit's ;
And called (I think)—
(Placing his hat upon his breast),
"The Cap that Fits."
(They enter the Chalet.)
You are as changing, Child,—as Men.
But are they? Is it true, I mean?
Who said it?
She was so pious and so good,
With such sad eyes beneath her hood,
Ah, then it must be right. And yet,
Suppose it were not so?
Suppose there were true men, you know!
Why, if that could occur,
What kind of man should you prefer?
What looks, you mean?
Looks, voice and all.