  “I covet her gold, sir,” no farther I got, His wrath down upon me so swiftly descended, A gay fortune-hunter, a spendthrift, a sot, Were names I was called before he had ended. “You covet her gold! Ah! no man with a heart Would do such a thing—not even a pauper— With you on life’s journey my child shall not start If counsel of mine, and warning, can stop her.” “I covet her gold, and, believe me,” I said, “The honest fact will in no way surprise her, I covet her gold, sir, the gold on her head, Once it is mine you may call me a miser.” [Decorative image unavailable.] |
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