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.