When Worth and Paquin plan and plot
Designs and fashion-plates fantastic,
Heedless of those whose forms are not
Particularly plastic,
They little know what pain they cause
By disregarding Nature's laws.

Huge hats upon my head repose,
A whalebone collar cramps my throttle,
My patient shoulders slope, like those
Of any Perrier bottle;
And now, to please Parisian taste,
I've got to sacrifice my waist!

To suit a tailor's idle whim,
My helpless frame is shaped and moulded;
With silken fetters every limb
Is hobbled and enfolded.
O Worth, O Paquin, must my hips
Endure a permanent eclipse?

I cannot walk, I cannot sit;
My figure, altered and amended,
Is not, to say the least of it,
As Providence intended.
Ah, who can view without compassion
This modern Martyrdom of Fashion?