——:o:——
Elegy on a Pair of Breeches,
Thrown upon a Dust-heap by a Miser.
Here rest my breeches on the lap of earth
By Time destroyed, by Pride now cast away;
Whose waistband never knew the stretch of mirth,
Whose lining long ere this had felt decay.
Oft has the needle tried its skill in vain,
Patch over patch full oft their knees have borne,
Oft have their rents my bosom doom’d to pain,