Wherefore art thou, button?

"How are you my pet?" inquired the dressmakers's dummy of the dark pink dress sitting upon her. The dummy, you see, had begun to get a little worried about her. Mostly clothes were put upon her, left for a day or two and then hung up in the wardrobe, finished and blissfully happy about being able to claim their place sartorially. But this dress had been on her for a week or more now, and the happy mumurmings about being made and how lovely her matching lining was had ebbed off until little more than silence was had.

"Oh", said the dress somewhat listlessly. "I'm fine, I suppose. Just waiting to be finished up. I've been occupying myself these long, dragging hours with silently reciting Shakespeare."

"Shakespeare!" said the dummy. "Well, my dear, in times of trial much comfort can be found for us in the wise and knowing words that the great have left behind. But fret not - I'm sure you'll have your very own place in the wardrobe in no time."

"I guess so", said the dress, "but the Bard does keep my anxious mind busy. Would you like to hear me recite?"

"Of course" said the dummy, who considered herself to be quite the literary sort.

The dress cleared her throat, and then launched into verse passionately: "My button! My button! My kingdom for a button!" So vehement was her delivery that the dummy found herself wobbling about on her stand.

"Withdraw, my dear!" said the dummy when she finally regained her balance. "We all like a bit of Richard III, but I believe he's asking for a horse."

"Who cares what he is asking for!" cried the dress. "All I want for is a button, and then I'll be out there being worn like the rest of the dresses. But instead I'm stuck here, a wee buttonless orphan. Talk about a summer of discontent!"