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,