Punch, or the London Charivari, page 1 by Various Authors
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licity! I saw a vision in my sleep, Which made me bow my head and weep As one aghast, accurst! Was it a spook before me past? Of women I beheld the last, As ADAM saw the first.
Regent Street seemed "No Thoroughfare," Bond Street looked weird, inhuman; The spectres of past fashions were Around that lonely Woman. Some were the work of native hands, Some had arrived from foreign lands, Nondescript jumbles some! Pall-Mall had now nor sound nor tread, Park Lane was silent as the dead, Belgravia was dumb.
Yet, lighthouse-like, that lone one stood, Or whisked her skirts around, Like a wild wind that sweeps the wood, And strews with leaves the ground. Singing, "Our hour is come, O Sun Of Fashion! We'll have no more fun. Solitude is too slow! True thou hast worn ten thousand shapes (In spite of man's sour gibes and japes), But--now the thing lacks go.
"What though the grumbler Man put forth His pompous power and skill! He could not make Woman and WORTH The vassals of his will;-- Fashion, I mourn thy parted sway, Thou dim discrownéd Queen! To play To empty box and stall; To dress--when not another She Exists to quicken rivalry-- No, it won't pay at all!
"Go, let oblivion's curtain fall Upon the works of men! Nothing they did that's worth recall, With sword, or spade, or pen. Their bumptious bunglings bring not back! Man always was a noisy quack Who thought himself a god; But when he fancied he had scored Prodigiously, the Sex he bored Subdued him with a nod.
"Now I am weary. No one tries The fit of new attire! Doom, that the joys of Dress denies, Bids Woman's bliss expire. But shall La Mode know final death? Forbid it Woman's latest breath! Death--who is male--shan't boast The eclipse of Fashion. Such a pall Shall not like Darkness cover all-- Till I give up the ghost!
"What would most vex and worry him, Dull, modeless Man, whose spark Long (beside Woman's) burning dim, Has now gone down in dark? Ha! He'd kick up th