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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=353943" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Description Of A Lost Friend</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">FROM THE MORNING POST.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LOST--near the 'Change in the city, <br>(I saw there a girl that seemed pretty) <br>'Joe Steel,' a short, cross-looking varlet, <br>With a visage as red as scarlet: <br>His nose and chin of a hue <br>Approaching nearly to blue: <br>With legs just the length, and no more, <br>That will trot him from door to door; <br>And a most capacious paunch, <br>Fed with many a venison haunch. <br>Whoever will bring the same <br>To a tailor's of the name <br>Of Patterson, Watson, and Co., <br>Shall receive a guinea or so. <br>And that all may understand, <br>And bring him safe to hand, <br>I subjoin as well as I can, <br>The character of the man. <br>He's a grumpy sort of a fellow, <br>Till liquor has made him mellow; <br>The sort of man who never <br>Wishes your guests to be clever, <br>When he's asked to come and dine, <br>But only wants his wine. <br>He is but a stupid ass, <br>Even when he's filled his glass, <br>And emptied it too, a dozen <br>Times, with some civil cousin. <br>I don't remember his saying <br>Aught, that meant more than braying. <br>We met and we talked together <br>Of politics and the weather, <br>Of the taxes and the king, <br>And that silly sort of thing; <br>But he never would give an opinion <br>As to the sort of dominion <br>He should like to live under, if we <br>To think of such things were free. <br>He said it was all speculation, <br>More harm than good to the nation. <br>He wouldn't abuse the Commons; <br>Nor admire a pretty woman's <br>Ancle, that tripped thro' the park <br>When it wasn't light or dark. <br>Laugh at him--he turned sour; <br>Talk gravely--his brow would lower. <br>Sometimes he wished to grow fat, <br>(I'm sure it was needless, that) <br>When he was over-fed, <br>Or out of spirits, he said. <br>Sometimes he wished to be thin, <br>(When he poured fresh spirits in.) <br>But he never, when we were alone, <br>Said any thing new of his own. <br>The merrier you were, the more <br>He grumbled, and fumed, and swore; <br>The happier you were, the less <br>He cared for your happiness. <br>We never agreed for a day, <br>Except when one was away. <br>And meeting too often of late, <br>It was my peculiar fate <br>To say something bitter and bad <br>About wives being not to be had, <br>When a batchelor got a red nose, <br>And his short legs were shrunk in his hose-- <br>It was witty; but cost me my friend: <br>For, being too late to amend, <br>He took it amiss that I <br>The defects of his form should spy. <br>Perchance he had borne a few jeers <br>On the purple hue of his ears, <br>But to say that his legs were small! <br>Oh! his heart's blood was turned to gall. <br>So leaving his bottle, he swore <br>That he never would enter my door. <br>And I chuckled within my own heart, <br>Snapped my fingers, and saw him depart, <br>But, alas! now I've lost him, I find <br>There was no one so much to my mind. <br>I have now got a good-tempered fellow, <br>But he tells me my face is grown yellow. <br>I've got a new friend that is clever, <br>But he's brewing his good things for ever: <br>Another, who talks at a rate <br>That is frightful, of church and of state, <br>And never will give in a jot, <br>Tho' you reason and bawl till you're hot: <br>Another--but why should I bring <br>Of friends, as of onions, a string <br>To my dinners, except that I feel <br>No number can make a Joe Steel! <br>When they're lively, I think it a bore; <br>When they're silent, I miss him the more. <br>I miss him when I would recall <br>Some fact of my youth to them all. <br>Not one of my friends seems to care <br>If I once had a head of black hair-- <br>Not one of them seems to believe <br>How the pretty girls once used to grieve <br>When they missed me amongst them,--Oh! no, <br>I can have no friend equal to Joe!-- <br>I miss his round, red, surly face-- <br>I miss his short legs from their place-- <br>I miss him--I'm growing quite sad; <br>I think my old port is turned bad-- <br>I miss him, and draw this conclusion, <br>(Tho' others may think it delusion) <br>That, with all their worst faults at their back, <br>(And I'm sure poor Joe Steel had a pack) <br>Tho' they never can alter or mend; <br>There's no friend like a very old friend!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Caroline+Elizabeth+Sarah+Norton">Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=353943" data-title="Description Of A Lost Friend de Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton" data-description="FROM THE MORNING POST.

LOST--near the 'Change in the city, 
(I saw there a girl that seemed pretty) 
'Joe Steel,' a short, cross-looking varlet, 
With a visage as red as scarlet: 
His nose and chin of a hue 
Approaching nearly to blue: 
With legs..."></div>
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