Sit close to your friend, for a frightful end
Is at hand for the miser Jew!
Sit tight to your seat while the pulses beat—
Nestle close to your neighbour, do!
For he’ll perish, alas!
From a property glass
Filled with nothing whatever—neat!
He’s there by himself, counting piles of pelf
Of a counterfeit gamboge hue.
He’s wizened and dried like old Arthur Gride,