THE man who's wholly ruined, sir, fears nothing; How can he when all's lost to him already? There is a desperate gayety which comes To buoy one up in such a strait as this; Under whose spell, it is a sort of witchcraft, Men lose all sense of wrong, or rather take Wrong for their right, rejoicing even in crime. Faith, now, I'd hardly answer for myself, If in some garden solitude, like this, sir, At the hour of midnight (hark! the deep church tower Is tolling twelve), haply I chanced to meet A pompous millionaire, a man who staggers Under his golden burden, like a ship Reeling 'neath too much canvass; I should ease My laboring comrade, thus and thus, of all His glittering superfluities; this ring Is a brave diamond, and will serve me bravely; And ha! by Pluto! what a massive chain Meanders like a miniature Pactolus Across your worship's vest; my lord, no wonder You grow asthmatic with a weight like that Pressed on your gasping lungs; I'll free you from it; And blessed saints! but here's fair-knit purse, And fairly filled, too! Shame it were in sooth To keep this gift of your sweet paramour, Therefore, behold me! I pour out this coin; O Jesu! what rich music! but the purse Duly return you! haste, your worship, haste, Or else these itching palms will find fresh work About your silken doublet, and bright hose, Or those trussed points you needs must clasp with jewels; Ay, haste, and take you comfort in the text Which the wise Messer Salvatore Duomo Dins in our ears each sacred Sabbath morning, That "blessed, three times blessed, are the poor!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LONG ISLAND SOUND by EMMA LAZARUS THE WEST WIND by JOHN MASEFIELD MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 9 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI OF BENEVOLENCE: AN EPISTLE TO EUMENES by JOHN ARMSTRONG THE SUNLIT VALE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN LULLABY by JOHN WHITE CHADWICK |