Classic Poem

Cross the poor old Gipsy's hand now
With a little bit of gold:
You've the best of luck, my lady,
That the stars have ever told.

There's a fair young man as loves you,
And you love him fond and true;
There's a dark young fellow also,
Dyin' all for love of you.

And you'll marry him you love, miss,
And you'll make a first-rate wife;
You'll be mother of two children,
And be happy all your life.

And if I can read the stars right,
You will meet him here to-day—
Look! here's some one just a comin'
As will bear out all I say.

Shall I tell your fortune too, sir?
What? I can't!—Oh, yes I can.
Don't you laugh at fortune-telling:
'Twas with that the world began!