Classic Poem

The Arabs had ploughed, but not planted, their field,
When the Devil, like Jehu, came galloping by,
And said,—“Half the earth me its produce must yield;
Remember it, rogues, when your harvest draws nigh.”
The Arabs are foxes. They said,—“Be it so;
The upper half ours and the lower half thine.”
But the Devil will always be uppermost:—“No!
The lower half yours, and the upper half mine.”
So they planted them turnips and beets everywhere,
And then, when the time of the harvest drew on,
The Devil came puffing to gather his share,—
The tops were all there, but the roots were all gone.
And when it came round to the spring of the year,
Then out spake the Devil, in a furious heat,—
“I go for the lower half this time, that 's clear.”
So the Arabs, they planted them corn and wheat.
And when it became again time to divide,
The Arabs began the ripe ears to fell;
The Devil he took the dry stubble, and cried,—
“'T will kindle my fires below there right well.”