---

Richard Lovelace - To A Lady With Child That Ask`d An Old Shirt.
Work rating: Low

  And why an honour`d ragged shirt, that shows,
Like tatter`d ensigns, all its bodie`s blows?
Should it be swathed in a vest so dire,
It were enough to set the child on fire;
Dishevell`d queen[s] should strip them of their hair,
And in it mantle the new rising heir:
Nor do I know ought worth to wrap it in,
Except my parchment upper-coat of skin;
And then expect no end of its chast tears,
That first was rowl`d in down, now furs of bears.

  But since to ladies `t hath a custome been
Linnen to send, that travail and lye in;
To the nine sempstresses, my former friends,
I su`d; but they had nought but shreds and ends.
At last, the jolli`st of the three times three
Rent th` apron from her smock, and gave it me;
`Twas soft and gentle, subt`ly spun, no doubt;
Pardon my boldnese, madam; HERE`S THE CLOUT.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.