A lusty Cowen I would be.
Yet were I Cowen, where, oh, where
Would be my Julia, plump and fair?
And where would be those children four
Which now I smilingly adore?
The thought induces such a shock,
I'd not be Cowen—I'd be Dock!
But were I Dock, with stores of gold,
How would I pine at being old—
How grieve to see in Cowen's eyes