Hark, hark! I hear
From far and near,
Of attic sounds an undulation:
Or viscous glass
Cause in my heart this congregation?
Platow, the Cossack, said one day
Lord! why should man be vain?
If he is poor, he cannot pay,
If rich, he lives in pain:
Both Democrat and Harry Clitus
Did nothing else but laugh and cry thus.
Then why should man his glory vaunt,
A poor two-footed biped?
Why carry such a high head?
A man without his wit is funny,
But what’s his wit without his money?
Then if you buy
A ring for I
Both wit and money too you show;
And I will take
It for your sake
For “To-I-mow, sas-ag-ass-ho!”
Which means, as my Lord Baygroan says,
“My life, I’ll love you all my days!”