English poem
A "Scion Of Nobility"
by Ambrose Bierce (1842–1914)
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!