Fables in Song :: :: University of Virginia Library

His dripping rags: and, as the latest word
Which, ere his senses left him, he had heard
Was said in Latin, shivering as he dried him,
The wretch sigh'd ruefully “Non bis in idem!”
Then clamber'd to the shore with trailing tread,
Slunk home, and sank, unsupper'd, into bed.—
There, long in miserable plight he lay,
Rack'd by an aguish fever night and day.
But, since he could not pay the doctor's fees,
Gratis the man recover'd by degrees.
And now, one miracle another follow'd;
For by the last disease the first was swallow'd,
Just as one nail drives out another one.
Feeling his health and strength restored, anon,
Ere he set out in search of work, the man
To brush and clean his sand-caked clothes began.
When, lo you, yet another miracle!
The best of all. For, glittering as they fell,
The grains of sand that off his garments roll'd
Were mixt with grains of veritable gold.
The poor man sought the well-remember'd bank
Which for his cold, and gold, he had to thank.
'Twas all auriferous. He tested it,
But kept the secret—and the gold, till bit
By bit a little capital he got.
Therewith the bank he bought, and on the spot
Built workshops, hiring out of many a land
Workmen to wash the wealth from that rare sand.
Plenteous the profit was, since pure the gold.
And thus the man, at last, grew rich—and old.