He would lock his hands and strike them upon
His knees, like this: chink, chink, chink, chink.
It sounds like coins of gold, I know,
It sounds like coins of gold—but oh,
When you open your hands there is nothing there
But a goldless chasm of empty air!—
’Twas fool’s gold all.
III.
Our John the sailor, Sailor John,
He used to tell the tale this way,