These are the doggerel days, Fortunatus

This is what happens when you don't have a computer at home:

Let me not to the carriage of young maids
Admit impediments. A dress is not a dress
That alters when alteration's made
Or stains so no remover can remove.
No, it is the ever fitted shirt,
That looks, on a temptress, as if she's never shaken;
It is the swell of every wandering skirt
Whose hem's undone and height in-taken.
The dress makes not men fools, though burning cheeks
And lips within its swirling, fickle compass come
Dress halters stop with a neckline cut so deep
It plunges downward even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
Then I never signed, nor no card was e'er approved.

With apologies to the Bard.

P.S. Just in case you don't have it coming out of your ears like treacle already, here's the original.