They sleep together in one den, Ten in a row -- ten beds, ten men; Three dying men are in that room, Whose coughs at night will soon become Death's rattle: drunkards in bed Sound as they worried things half dead. Jim Lasker dreamt, when in that den, He saw ten beds that had ten men; One sleeper in a sack was sewn, With nothing of his features shown: Jim felt that face he could not see -- 'This face is mine, I'm dead,' said he. . . . . . . 'James Lasker, you're the last to rise; Wake up, wake up!' the master cries. 'You've not paid me for daylight's sleep -- Suppose you had some kids to keep? Ah, now I see: this man of mine Came here to die, not sleep -- the swine!' |