Classic Poem

We are the true nobility!
Sons of rest and the outdoor air!
Knights of the tie and the rail are we,
Lightly meandering everywhere.
Having no gold we buy no care,
As over the crust of the world we go,
Stepping in time to this ditty rare:
Take up your bundle and beat it, Bo!

Camped on the sand of the sleepy sea;
— Having a little time to spare —
We dream for a day's eternity
Of the years unravel'd that brought us there;
Or out on the blazing desert bare
We gasp in the shade of a box-car row,
While our interior trumpets blare,
Take up your bundle and beat it, Bo!

Food we have without toil or fee,
Nor take we heed when the tourists stare;
For every man on his grave stands he,
And each man's grave is his own affair.
Monarch, pauper, or millionaire,
Father and son shall come to know
That the ultimate hour will this burden bear:
Take up your bundle and beat it, Bo!

Prince, our vulgarity, you declare,
Shocks your soul and disgusts you so;
Your pardon, Sire, but accept your share;
Take up your bundle and beat it, Bo!