The tokens of thy heartless usury.
Yet oft I dream that in some life to come,
Where no sharp pangs assail the poet's tum,
Athwart high sunburnt plains I drive my plough,
Untouched by earth's gross appetites, and thou,
My ox, my beast, goest groaning at the tugs,
And do I spare thy feelings? No, by jugs!
With tireless lash I probe thy leaden feet,
And beat and beat and beat and beat and beat.
ALGOL.