ORIGINAL POETRY. THE MISER'S LAMENT.
And am I past the healing art, And must I frae my siller part, For Urich I lang hae strived ? To gather gear was a' my care, By means nae matter, foul or f air, I rugget, and I rived. •\ ijf The pangs which wring my inward part— ■ Death shaking in my face his dart — Is nae doubt ill to dree ; But pairting wi' my precious gear, for which I toiled for fifty year* Is ten times waur to me. Now f«,r aff f riens will wag their head, And say, "The Lord be praised, lie's dead; We'll noo divide the spoil." \VTiik I through life half starved mysel, And neither cared for heaven or hell, They'll feast on roast and boil* Sax fit by twa shall be my bed ; They'll clap my haffets wi' a spade, And then divide my gean That drives me mad— don't touch mygoud, But rather put it in my shroud ; CJosS to my heart lay'fc near. Uraigielee.
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Tuapeka Times, Volume III, Issue 112, 31 March 1870, Page 7
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168ORIGINAL POETRY. THE MISER'S LAMENT. Tuapeka Times, Volume III, Issue 112, 31 March 1870, Page 7
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