A thief for gold—one reason and one knife!
I tell you, gold is costlier than life!
What price shall we have brought when we are gone?
When Ivan died, the heartless world went on
Breeding more sons that men might still be cheap.
And who but I had any tears to weep?
I mind ‘twas April when the tale was brought
That he’d been lost at sea. I thought and thought
About the way all things were mad to breed—
One big hot itch to suckle or bear seed—