And rhymes are ill to match and join.
In visions of a future day,
I see thy long-lost form appear;
And, o'er the counter, whispering, say—
"Pray can you make it cheaper, dear?"
Then I'll not call thee all unkind,
Nor every hope untimely drop;
Unless, in after days, I find
You take your custom past my shop.
J. P.