Читать книгу Revised Edition of Poems - Bill o'th' Hoylus End - Страница 4

What profits me tho’ I sud be

   The lord o’ yonder castle gay;

Hev rooms in state to imitate

   The princely splendour of the day

For what are all my carvéd doors,

My chandeliers or carpet floors,

   No art could save me from the grave.

What profits me tho’ I sud be

   Decked i’ costly costumes grand,

Like the Persian king o’ kings,

   Wi’ diamond rings to deck my hand:

For what wor all my grand attire,

That fooils both envy and admire,

   No gems could save me from the grave.

What profits me tho’ I sud be

   Thy worthy host, O millionaire,

Hev cent. for cent. for money lent;

   My wealth increasing ivvery year.

For what wor all my wealth to me,

Compared to immortality,

   Wealth could not save me from the grave.

What profits me tho’ I sud be

   Even the gert Persian Shah,

My subjects stand at my command,

   Wi’ fearful aspect and wi’ awe;

For what wor a despotic rule,

Wi’ all the world at my control,

   All could not save me from the grave.