Classic Poem

Ladyes that weare black cypresse vailes,
Turn'd lately to white linnen railes,
And to your girdle weare your bands,
And shew your armes in stead of hands:
What can you do in Lent more meet,
As fittest dresse, than weare a sheet?
'Twas once a band, 'tis now a cloake:
An acorne one day proves an oake;
Weare but your lawn unto your feet,
And then your band will prove a sheet:
By which device and wise excesse
You do your pennance in a dresse,
And none shall know, by what they see,
Which Lady's censur'd, which goes free.