We Poor Dancing Bears
From my residence I only see stars
This spartan existence a perfect hospital now
The tinselled mantle
The leaden-colored waters
Beset with rocks and quicksands
Cold as if butter would not melt within our mouths
These dolesome times like compositions
On wretched hurdy gurdies
Musicianers pulling up thistles
I cut them for ever
You will at all events be as well off anywhere
A sad impostor contented with trial