Anon.--My Love in Her Attire ººÒë
My Love in Her Attire
Anon.
My love in her attire doth show her wit,
It doth so well become her:
For every season she hath dressing fit,
For winter, spring, and summer.
No beauty she doth miss,
When all her robes are on;
But beauty’s self she is,
When all her robes are gone.
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