Come, sisters, weep!—our Baron dear,
    Alas! has run away.
  If always we had kept him here
    He had not gone astray.

  Painter and grainer it were vain
    To say he was, before;
  And if he were, yet ne'er again
    He'll darken here a door.

  We mourn each matrimonial plan—
    Even tradesmen join the cry:
  He was so promising a man
    Whenever he did buy.

  He was a fascinating lad,
    Deny it all who may;
  Even moneyed men confess he had
    A very taking way.

  So from our tables he is gone—
    Our tears descend in showers;
  We loved the very fat upon.
    His kidneys, for 'twas ours.

  To women he was all respect
    To duns as cold as ice;
  No lady could his suit reject,
    No tailor get its price.

  He raised our hope above the sky;
    Alas! alack! and O!
  That one who worked it up so high
    Should play it down so low!