 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
THE DYING CLERK.
I've had charge of the books, Maria, for forty-nine years and more;
I remember I made the first entries when we moved from the Pearl-street store.
In fact I grew up in the business: I swept out the place when a boy,
And climbed from one post to another, and never yet left their employ.
I remember I made the first entries when we moved from the Pearl-street store.
In fact I grew up in the business: I swept out the place when a boy,
And climbed from one post to another, and never yet left their employ.
367
And how will they get on without me? They've no one to follow my plan:
That Morton'll muddle the journal; and Harris, he isn't the man.
Harris, indeed! why, I've known him since he was a slip of a lad!
And now he's a wild boy of thirty—he'll soon bring our books to the bad.
That Morton'll muddle the journal; and Harris, he isn't the man.
Harris, indeed! why, I've known him since he was a slip of a lad!
And now he's a wild boy of thirty—he'll soon bring our books to the bad.
I've never been found in an error—I know that my books will compare
With any in South street this minute—in fact, with their books anywhere;
But the doctor says, errors excepted—and I have no doubt but he's right—
That my time's come to make trial balance, and close my account up to-night.
With any in South street this minute—in fact, with their books anywhere;
But the doctor says, errors excepted—and I have no doubt but he's right—
That my time's come to make trial balance, and close my account up to-night.
Now don't go to crying, Maria, for tears are a poor stock in hand,
And you're not left a beggar entirely you might just as well understand;
For here is the house that we live in, some bonds and some ready cash too.
Had he lived, 'twould have gone to your father; and now it'll all come to you.
And you're not left a beggar entirely you might just as well understand;
For here is the house that we live in, some bonds and some ready cash too.
Had he lived, 'twould have gone to your father; and now it'll all come to you.
Not talk at this moment of money! And why won't I talk of it, pray?
'Tis a very good thing, I can tell you, laid by for a cold, rainy day.
If you and that Robert must marry, you won't be a beggarly bride;
Young love is a good thing for young folk, but then you want money beside.
'Tis a very good thing, I can tell you, laid by for a cold, rainy day.
If you and that Robert must marry, you won't be a beggarly bride;
Young love is a good thing for young folk, but then you want money beside.
368
I'd rather you took up with Peter, for Peter's a much better man;
But when we can't get what we want to, we do the next best that we can.
And Robert is earnest and honest, and steady enough in his ways;
But Peter's the man to make money, and that is the thing now-a-days.
But when we can't get what we want to, we do the next best that we can.
And Robert is earnest and honest, and steady enough in his ways;
But Peter's the man to make money, and that is the thing now-a-days.
And Robert is not a neat penman—he somehow don't look far ahead;
He thinks of to-day when he ought to give thought to tomorrow instead.
He'll always have blots in his ledger—But grandfather's talk is in vain;
To Profit and Loss we must charge it—as they say—“Debit Loss, credit Gain.”
He thinks of to-day when he ought to give thought to tomorrow instead.
He'll always have blots in his ledger—But grandfather's talk is in vain;
To Profit and Loss we must charge it—as they say—“Debit Loss, credit Gain.”
I'm not such an old man, Maria—but a little way past seventy-five;
There's Timothy Morris's brother, he's ninety, and he is alive;
And there is old Anthony Norton—he's somewhere about eighty-two,
And lively, they say, as a cricket; but then he's as rich as a Jew.
There's Timothy Morris's brother, he's ninety, and he is alive;
And there is old Anthony Norton—he's somewhere about eighty-two,
And lively, they say, as a cricket; but then he's as rich as a Jew.
And so you will marry that Robert? Well, well, if you must have your way,
I hope that you'll never repent it—I know you'll be sure to, one day.
What! Robert! His pen always splutters; his books that I've seen are a show—
If Harris gets hold of the ledger, he'll tangle accounts there, I know.
I hope that you'll never repent it—I know you'll be sure to, one day.
What! Robert! His pen always splutters; his books that I've seen are a show—
If Harris gets hold of the ledger, he'll tangle accounts there, I know.
369
Come, lift me up higher, Maria—it seems I slide down in the bed;
Then shake up the pillow a little—there's a lump there just under my head.
You'd better leave Robert for Peter—my eyes seem to flutter and swim—
That ugly mistake in the column—What makes the light—burn—there—so—dim?
Then shake up the pillow a little—there's a lump there just under my head.
You'd better leave Robert for Peter—my eyes seem to flutter and swim—
That ugly mistake in the column—What makes the light—burn—there—so—dim?
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |