Query any poem you want.

Come, sisters, weep!-our Baron dear,

Alas! has run away.

If always we had kept him here

He had not gone astray.

Painter and grainer it were vain

To say he was, before;

And if he were, yet ne'er again

He'll darken here a door.

We mourn each matrimonial plan

Even tradesmen join the cry:

He was so promising a man

Whenever he did buy.

He was a fascinating lad,

Deny it all who may;

Even moneyed men confess he had

A very taking way.

So from our tables he is gone

Our tears descend in showers;

We loved the very fat upon.

His kidneys, for 'twas ours.

To women he was all respect

To duns as cold as ice;

No lady could his suit reject,

No tailor get its price.

He raised our hope above the sky;

Alas! alack! and O!

That one who worked it up so high

Should play it down so low!