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All for Dress.

All for Dress.

Mussy on us! what a muss

An Amiable Young Lady.

All for Balls and Dress.

Dear, simpering, fascinating Miss.

The ladies' hoops do dreadful slaughter.

"Pray, what's the matter," said a friend to me

Devoid of useless crinoline.

What more would you have, all plaided and stuffed

Behold her pompous, lofty stride.

Miss Brazenface.

Clear the track and let me pass.

Oh! Gentle Lady, you know full well.

Oh! My Hoops.

The Conceited Woman.

A Mantilla from your shoulder falls

Waddling pyramid you go,

Aint you a pretty pair of bloods, as in the cars you ride

Pretty lady do not rage

Convenient Fashion.

Oh! My Hoops.

The One That Wears the Breeches.

Street Sweeper.

Bridget, sometimes, at the glass.

You think your style is just the thing