And Paley herited gold and grounds
Worth several hundred thousand pounds.
But he, like many a rich young man,
Through this magnificent fortune ran,
And nothing was left for his daily needs
But duplicate copies of mortgage-deeds.
Shabby and sorry and sorely sick,
He slept, and dreamt that the clock's "tick, tick"
Was one of the Fates, with a long sharp knife,
Snicking off bits of his shortened life.