And then he swore; and, sighing, on he slipped
A pair of trousers of flesh-coloured silk;
Next with a virgin zone he was equipped,
Which girt a slight chemise as white as milk;
But tugging on his petticoat, he tripped,
Which—as we say—or as the Scotch say, whilk,
(The rhyme obliges me to this; sometimes
Monarchs are less imperative than rhymes)—