I never sigh to see gyps at my feet;
I make the butter fly, all in an hour,
Taking it home for my Saturday treat.
From Horace at Athens, by G. O. Trevelyan.
I’d be a Rothschild.
I’d be a Rothschild! immortal in story,
As the fellows who live by their stanzas and brains,
Having a heart drunk with visions of glory,
When fifty per cent, on my table remains;