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Poem by James Thomson
On the Hoop
The hoop, the darling justly of the fair, Of every generous swain deserves the care. It is unmanly to desert the weak, 'Twould urge a stone, if possible, to speak; To hear stanch hypocrites bawl out and cry, 'This hoop's a whorish garb, fie! ladies, fie!' O cruel and audacious men, to blast The fame of ladies more than vestals chaste; Should you go search the globe throughout, None will you find so pious and devout; So modest, chaste, so handsome, and so fair, As our dear Caledonian ladies are. When awful beauty puts on all her charms, Nought gives our sex such terrible alarms, As when the hoop and tartan both combine To make a virgin like a goddess shine. Let quakers cut their clothes unto the quick, And with severities themselves afflict; But may the hoop adorn Edina's streets, Till the south pole shall with the northern meet.
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