It’s said that clothing makes the man
But it can unmake too.
Now in a dress as you command
I am unmanned by you.

It seems gender is mutable,
Now I am a French maid.
I’m clothed as you deem suitable,
Short skirt, my legs displayed.

I fear I am enjoying this,
I think as I curtsey.
Mistress, have you made me a miss?
Tell me, are you Circe?

You laugh and say “bend over dear,”
And who we are you soon make clear.