Mines were made for sinking money, not for raising dividend.
And the clergy bring their savings, the widows bring their store,
And they push to reach your presence, and they jostle and they fall,
And at last they pile their money in a heap before your door;
And, just to make them happy, you accept and keep it all.
So you make your mine by begging—(modern miners never dig),—
And you float a gorgeous Company. The shares go spinning up;
But you never "rig the market." (What an awkward word is "rig"!)
And you drain success in bumpers from an overflowing cup.
Then one day the thing gets shaky, and it goes from bad to worse,