'WE MET—'TWAS IN A CROWD.'

We met—'twas in a mob—and I thought he had done me—

I felt—I could not feel—for no watch was upon me;

He ran—the night was cold—and his pace was unalter'd,

I too longed much to pelt—but my small-boned legs falter'd.

I wore my bran new boots—and unrivall'd their brightness;

They fit me to a hair—how I hated their tightness!

I call'd, but no one came, and my stride had a tether,

Oh thou hast been the cause of this anguish, my leather!

And once again we met—and an old pal was near him,

He swore, a something low—but 'twas no use to fear him;

I seized upon his arm, he was mine and mine only,

And stept—as he deserv'd—to cells wretched and lonely:

And there he will be tried—but I shall ne'er receive her,

The watch that went too sure for an artful deceiver;

The world may think me gay,—heart and feet ache together,

Oh thou hast been the cause of this anguish, my leather!