An Indian Dandy

Well, isn’t that a funny dress?
You think he must be cruel,
With human bones set round his crown,
And skulls in place of jewels.

Yet in his countenance you see
Nothing severe or savage,
As if, with cannibal intent,
Our whole domain he’d ravage.

There’s no accounting for our tastes,
(“De gustibus,” and so forth;)
Some dote on very slender waists,
Some like hooped cisterns go forth.

Sneer not at Indian or Malay,
Nor get into a passion;
He does as you do day by day—
Follows the latest fashion.

White dandies strut in stove-pipe hats,
White women go bare-headed;
Which is most proper, red or white,
We leave in doubt deep shaded.