LINES TO A FRIEND AT COBHAM.

’Tis pleasant, when we’ve absent friends, Sometimes to hob and nob ’em With Memory’s glass—at such a pass Remember me at Cobham! Have pigs you will, and sometimes kill, But if you sigh and sob ’em, And cannot eat your home-grown meat, Remember me at Cobham! Of hen and cock, you’ll have a stock, And death will oft unthrob ’em,— A country chick is good to pick— Remember me at Cobham! Some orchard trees of course you’ll lease And boys will sometimes rob ’em, A friend (you know) before a foe— Remember me at Cobham! You’ll sometimes have wax-lighted rooms, And friends of course to mob ’em, Should you be short of such a sort, Remember me at Cobham!