A smarter you'll not find in town
Cut by Nugee, that Snip of note;
A very quiet olive-brown
's the colour of Dick's long-tail'd Coat.
Gay jackets clothe the stately Pole,
The proud Hungarian, and the Croat,
Yet Esterhazy, on the whole,
Looks best when in a long-tail'd Coat.
Lord Byron most admired, we know,
The Albanian dress, or Suliote;
But then he died some years ago,
And never saw Dick's long-tail'd Coat.
Or, past all doubt, the Poet's theme
Had never been the "White Capote,"
Had he once view'd, in Fancy's dream,
The glories of Dick's long-tail'd Coat.
We also know on Highland kilt
Poor dear Glengary used to dote,
And had esteem'd it actual guilt
I' "the Gael" to wear a long-tail'd Coat,
No wonder 'twould his eyes annoy,
Monkbarns himself would never quote
"Sir Robert Sibbald," "Gordon," "Roy,"
Or "Stukely" for a long-tail'd Coat.
Jackets may do to ride a race,
Or row in, when one's in a boat;
But, in the Boudoir, sure, for grace
There's nothing like Dick's long-tail'd Coat.
Of course, in climbing up a tree,
On terra firma, or afloat.
To mount the giddy top-mast, he
Would doff awhile his long-tail'd Coat.
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