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Poem	I never loved a dear Gazelle-- Nor anything that cost me much: High prices profit those who sell, But why should I be fond of such? To glad me with his soft black eye My son comes trotting home from school; He's had a fight but can't tell why-- He always was a little fool! But, when he came to know me well, He kicked me out, her testy Sire: And when I stained my hair, that Belle Might note the change and this admire And love me, it was sure to dye A muddy green, or staring blue: Whilst one might trace, with half an eye, The still triumphant carrot through
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