Classic Poem

My coat has long since lost its gloss,
My purse of gold is bare,
I stride no horses fleet and fine,
Nor dine on dainties rare.
Yet ho! my cheek is full and red,
My eye is clear and bright,
And I laugh at rags, and want and care,
With a jolly strong heart and light.

Ha! ha! Sir Spider, on the wall,
How lank you look and poor.
We've neither webbed a single fly
For a good twelve months or more.
Yet ho! who cares? we both live high—
As high as we can get—
And we season the good things that we say
With the salt of our attic wit.

The spider has fled into his web,
The mouse, he scampers away,
And the dusty office seems chill and drear.
With the shadows long and grey.
What ho, old moth! art working still?
The prince of scholars you be
Toiling away in your wormy cell
Like a monk right steadily.

And now to fancy's mystic eye,
The mournful twilight teems
With solemn shapes and dusky forms
From the dark land of dreams.
What ho! start not, I know them well,
Brave doctors of the law—
Each one in place—quick for the dance
My quivering bow I draw.

Ha! ha! these figures grave and dusk,
See how they wheel and spin,
Footing it up and shuffling down
To the merry violin.
Oh! ho! 't is a farcical sight to see—
Lord Eldon, you alone,
Now forward Coke, and Matthew Hale,
With jolly old Blackstone.

The soldier loves the flash of steel,
The sailor loves the sea,
The forester carols a merry tune
In praise of the greenwood tree;
Yet ho! for law, with scales so bright,
And the sword to shield from harm,
And her ragged sons who laugh at care,
With jolly light hearts and strong.