What’s That?
I met a little person on my land,
A-fishing in the waters of my stream;
He seemed a man, yet could not understand
Things that to most men very simple seem.
“Get off!” said I; “this land is mine, my friend!
Get out!” said I; “this brook belongs to me!
I own the land, and you must make an end
Of fishing here so free.
“I own this place, the land and water too!
You have no right to be here, that is flat!
Get off it! That is all I ask of you!—”
“Own it?” said he; “what’s that?”
“What’s that?” said I, “why, that is common sense!
I own the water and the fishing right;
I own the land from here to yonder fence;
Get off, my friend, or fight!”
He looked at the clear stream so neatly kept;
He looked at teeming vine and laden tree,
And wealthy fields of grain that stirred and slept;
“I see!” he cried, “I see!
“You mean you cut the wood and plowed the field,
From your hard labor all this beauty grew,
To you is due the richness of the yield;
You have some claim, ’tis true.”
“Not so,” said I, with manner very cool,
And tossed my purse into the air and caught it;
“Do I look like a laborer, you fool?
It’s mine because I bought it!”
Again he looked as if I talked in Greek,
Again he scratched his head and twirled his hat,
Before he mustered wit enough to speak.
“Bought it?” said he, “what’s that?”
And then he said again, “I see! I see!
You mean that some men toiled with plows and hoes,
And while those worked for you, you toiled with glee
At other work for those.”
“Not so!” said I, getting a little hot,
Thinking the man a fool as well as funny;
“I’m not a working-man, you idiot;
I bought it with my money!”
And still that creature stared and dropped his jaw,
Till I could have destroyed him where he sat.
“Money,” said I, “money, and moneyed law!”
“Money?” said he, “what’s that?”