Killing the golden goose, and while he bled,
Cried sage economists, “The King is dead!”
But he, good sooth, was never more alive;
He watched the pools and trusts around him strive,
And when he’d learned the trick—it was not long—
He organized himself—a million strong!
Cornered the food supply! A Farmer’s Ring!
Hurrah! “The King is dead! Long live the King!”
“HOW MANY POOR!”
“Whene’er I take my walks abroad, how many poor I see!”