When to soft Sleep we give ourselves away,
    And in a dream as in a fairy bark
    Drift on and on through the enchanted dark
  To purple daybreak—­little thought we pay
  To that sweet bitter world we know by day.
Sonnet:  Sleep.  T.B.  ALDRICH.

Dreams are the children of an idle brain. Romeo and Juliet, Act i. Sc. 4.  SHAKESPEARE.

DRESS.

Let thy attyre bee comely, but not costly. Euphues, 1579.  J. LYLY.

The soul of this man is his clothes. All’s Well that Ends Well, Act ii.  Sc. 5..  SHAKESPEARE.

  Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
  But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy: 
  For the apparel oft proclaims the man.
Hamlet, Act i.  Sc. 3.  SHAKESPEARE.

We’ll have a swashing and a martial outside. As You Like It, Act i.  Sc. 3.  SHAKESPEARE.

O fair undress, best dress! it checks no vein,
But every flowing limb in pleasure drowns,
And heightens ease with grace.
Castle of Indolence, Canto I.  J. THOMSON.

                  What a fine man
  Hath your tailor made you!
City Madam, Act i.  Sc. 2.  P. MASSINGER.

Thy gown? why, ay;—­come, tailor, let us see’t. 
O mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here? 
What’s this? a sleeve? ’tis like a demi-cannon: 
What, up and down, carved like an apple-tart? 
Here’s snip and nip and cut and slish and slash,
Like to a censer in a barber’s shop: 
Why, what i’ devil’s name, tailor, callest thou this!
Taming of the Shrew, Act iv.  Sc. 3.  SHAKESPEARE.

  With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings,
  With ruffs, and cuffs, and farthingales and things;
  With scarfs, and fans, and double change of bravery,
  With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery.
Taming of the Shrew, Act iv.  Sc. 3.  SHAKESPEARE.

  Dress drains our cellar dry,
  And keeps our larder lean; puts out our fires. 
  And introduces hunger, frost, and woe,
  Where peace and hospitality might reign.
The Task, Bk.  II.  W. COWPER.

  Dwellers in huts and in marble halls—­
    From Shepherdess up to Queen—­
  Cared little for bonnets, and less for shawls,
    And nothing for crinoline. 
  But now simplicity ’s not the rage,
    And it’s funny to think how cold
  The dress they wore in the Golden Age
    Would seem in the Age of Gold.
The Two Ages.  H.S.  LEIGH.

DRINK.

  Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale,
  And sing enamored of the nut-brown maid.
The Minstrel, Bk.  I.  J. BEATTIE.

  Fill full!  Why this is as it should be:  here
  Is my true realm, amidst bright eyes and faces
  Happy as fair!  Here sorrow cannot reach.
Sardanapalus, Act iii.  Sc. 1.  LORD BYRON.