Iwasneat, clean, shaved and sober, and Ididn'tcare who knew it.
Any old iron, any old iron, Anyany old old iron? You look neat Talk about a treat, You look dapper from your napper to your feet. Dressed in style, brand new tile, And your father's old green tie on, But I wouldn't give you tuppence for your old watch chain; Old iron, old iron?
As thin and neat as a furled umbrella.
Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast; Still to be powdered, still perfumed, Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free: Such sweet neglect more taketh me, Than all the adulteries of art; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
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