Читать книгу Come Hither: A Collection of Rhymes and Poems for the Young of All Ages онлайн

119 страница из 152

Whenever she heard them cry.

What did the gipsies do there?

They built a tomb for Pharaoh,

They built a tomb for Pharaoh,

So tall it touched the sky.

They buried him deep inside it,

Then let what would betide it,

They saddled their lean-ribbed ponies

And left him there to die.

What do the gipsies do now?

They follow the Sun, their father,

They follow the Sun, their father,

They know not whither nor why.

Whatever they find they take it,

And if it's a law they break it.

So never you talk to a gipsy,

Or look in a gipsy's eye.

H. H. Bashford

85

What noise of viols is so sweet

As when our merry clappers ring?

What mirth doth want when beggars meet?

A beggar's life is for a king.

Eat, drink, and play, sleep when we list,

Go where we will—so stocks be missed.

Bright shines the sun; play, beggars, play!

Here's scraps enough to serve to-day.

The world is ours, and ours alone;

For we alone have world at will.

We purchase not—all is our own;

Both fields and street we beggars fill.

Bright shines the sun; play, beggars, play!