The fabric frail my trust betrayed,
I thought it cloth, but found it shoddy.
What power malignant sent it here?
Vile rent; my peace of mind it drowns,
It proves these flimsy bags were dear,
That only cost me five half-crowns.
Here must I, sorrowing, wait repairs,
And moralize the mournful scene,
My sad refrain, “Tears, hideous tears,
I know, confound them, what they mean!”