Her Gold
“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.”