And spent it on my living and my pleasures day by day!
I would not now be goaded nigh unto my waiting grave,
By wondering how the deuce to keep those dollars mine for aye.
“I’d not be bankrupt in my nerves and prematurely old,
These golden shackles must be burst; I must again be free.
What Ho without! My ducats—to the winds with all my gold,
That I may once again enjoy the rest of poverty.”
THE RHYME OF THE ANCIENT POPULIST
It was an ancient populist,
His beard was long and gray,