A year or so ago, you know,
I had a friend, at Pimlico,
For want of better name called Joe
(This name is not his right 'un).
He was a sweet, poetic youth,
Romantic, gallant, and in sooth
Might well be called, in very truth
An "Admirable Crichton."
And oh! it grieved him sore to see
The lack,—these times,—of chivalry.
He'd now and then confide to me
His views upon the matter.
"Good, never now is done by stealth!"
He'd say, "Men ruin mind, and health
In sordid scramble after wealth;
And talk,—is idle chatter."
"That simple virtue, Modesty,
Alas! it now appears to be
A valueless commodity,
Though once men prized it highly."
He went on thus,—like anything,
Until I heard, one day last Spring,
That he intended marrying
The daughter of old Riley.
"Now this has turned out as it ought.
Joe is a reg'lar right good sort
To marry 'Cinderella.'"
The younger one, (thus called by me)
A sweet good girl as e'er might be
Was poor; the elder—rich was she—
Her name was Arabella.
An Aunt had left her lots of gold,
While 'Cinderella'—so I'm told,—
She left entirely in the cold
Without a single shilling.
The elder one,—though plain to see,—
Of suitors had some two, or three;
Poor Cinderella, nobody
To marry her seemed willing.
Until the noble high-souled Joe—
That Errant-knight of Pimlico—
Came forth, the world at large to show
That he at least knew better.
In spirit I before him bowed,
"To know a man like that I'm proud
And happy!" I remarked aloud,
And sent to him this letter.