‘’Tis a fine old homestead, but mortgaged so,
What a foolish thing for a man to do!’
And I said, my father is dead and gone,
But he’s left behind him a strong-armed son,
And my heart was hot with a purpose set,
To pay off that mortgage, to clear off that debt.
I’ve worked, heaven knows it, like any slave,
I’ve learned well the lesson of pinch and save,
I’ve kept a good horse, but dressed like a clown—
I haven’t a dollar to call my own.
O, I’m beaten—well beaten! yesterday
Everything went to Ned Brown from me;
My meadows, my acres of tassled corn,
The big orchard planted when I was born.
What I would have saved had I had the choice,
Was my chestnut mare, for she knows your voice.
So I’m only a beggar, Nan, you see—
Don’t fancy I’m begging for sympathy,
You see for yourself that I don’t care much—
Thank God, health’s a thing the law can’t touch!