 | The Ballad of Babie Bell And Other Poems |  |
64
THE SPENDTHRIFT'S FEAST.
[FROM A PLAY.]
To-night we sup with Fiole—We shall be delicately banqueted.
But do you know wherewith he pays for this?
No? Then I'll tell you; it is laughable.
A week ago his miserly father died—
Despite his swollen money-bags, he died—
But not a para of his hoarded wealth
Goes to Fiole. No; he builds a church
And gives it candles for a century,
Endows a hospital, and God knows what,
And only leaves that precious son of his
An antique drinking-cup all rough with gems
And moist with the grapes' bleeding—a shrewd hit
At Fiole, whose lady-love is Wine.
Neat, was it not? and worthy of the Count.
Well, this gold satire, this begemmed lampoon,
Fiole pawns to Jacobi the Jew,
And we're to dine on it!
| The Ballad of Babie Bell And Other Poems | |