And my sceptre, if I were king!
When money does come in my way,
It goes the next moment astray,
How and where I can’t really explain;
My pocket is cursed with a hole
Which my grandmother, excellent soul,
All her days would have stitched at in vain!
All the same, my good friend, keep your gold!
In my teens, if the truth must be told,
Proud Freedom I fervently woo’d;