Author Ben Jonson Bank feels no lameness of his knotty gout, His monies travel for him, in and out: And though the soundest legs go every day, He toils to be at hell, as soon as they. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments