Yet wants a little fresh condition.
Sweeter it is to gaze upon
Old Ocean’s rising, falling billers,
Than on the houses every one
That form the street called Saint Anne’s Villers.
Lemon hath a coat of frieze,
But all so seldom Lemon wears it,
That it is a prey to fleas,
And every moth that’s hungry tears it.
Oh! that coat’s the coat for me,