Page:The cry for justice - an anthology of the literature of social protest. - (IA cryforjusticea00sinc).pdf/783

 And yet, when I think of the poor, I long to be rich, I confess!

With the poor, as the world is aware, Stars and ribands one cannot well share, But gold is a different thing! Yes, just for a hundred francs down I'd cheerfully pawn both my crown And my sceptre, if I were king!

When money does come in my way, It goes the next moment astray, How and where I can't really explain; My pocket is cursed with a hole Which my grandmother, excellent soul, All her days would have stitched at in vain!

All the same, my good friend, keep your gold! In my teens, if the truth must be told, Proud Freedom I fervently woo'd; Yes, I, who have vaunted in song Lax loveliness all my life long, Am wedded in fact to a prude!

Ay, Liberty, Sir, you must learn, Is a bigot inflexibly stern, Who, heedless of time and of place, Directly the tinsel she spies On Servility's livery, cries, "Away with the rascally lace!"

Your dross she an insult would deem! But, frankly, how came you to dream Of attempting to treat with my muse?