Oh! the joy that we taste, like the light of the poles,
Is a flash amid darkness, too brilliant to stay;
But though ’twere the last little spark on our souls,
Let us light it up now—for ’tis whitewashing day!
The devil take tradesmen, who say we’re ungrateful;
Though we fly from grabs, to our friends we are true!
If we can’t pay, we can’t! then what is more hateful
Than taking one’s body for sums over-due?
Vile creditors blight
Our prospects outright;