Edgar Albert Guest

The Fishing Outfit

You may talk of stylish raiment,
   You may boast your broadcloth fine,
And the price you gave in payment
   May be treble that of mine.
But there’s one suit I’d not trade you
   Though it’s shabby and it’s thin,
For the garb your tailor made you:
       That’s the tattered,
       Mud-bespattered
   Suit that I go fishing in.
 
There’s no king in silks and laces
   And with jewels on his breast,
With whom I would alter places.
   There’s no man so richly dressed
Or so like a fashion panel
   That, his luxuries to win,
I would swap my shirt of flannel
       And the rusty,
       Frayed and dusty
   Suit that I go fishing in.
 
’Tis an outfit meant for pleasure;
   It is freedom’s raiment, too;
It’s a garb that I shall treasure
   Till my time of life is through.
Though perhaps it looks the saddest
   Of all robes for mortal skin,
I am proudest and I’m gladdest
       In that easy,
       Old and greasy
   Suit that I go fishing in.
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