money

One way to be very happy is to be very rich
For then you can buy orchids by the quire and bacon by the flitch.
And yet at the same time People don't mind if you only tip them a dime,
Because it's very funny
But somehow if you're rich enough you can get away with spending
water like money
While if you're not rich you can spend in one evening your salary for
the year
And everybody will just stand around and jeer.
If you are rich you don't have to think twice about buying a judge or a
horse,

Man alive, that mournst thy lot,
Desiring what thou hast not got,
Money, beauty, love, what not;

Deeming it blesseder to be
A rotted man, than live to see
So rude a sky as covers thee;

Deeming thyself of all unblest
And wretched souls the wretchedest,
Longing to die and be at rest;

Know: that however grim the fate
Which sent thee forth to meditate
Upon my enviable state,

Here lieth one who would resign
Gladly his lot, to shoulder thine.
Give me thy coat; get into mine.

Some seven men form an Association
(If possible, all Peers and Baronets),
They start off with a public declaration
To what extent they mean to pay their debts.
That's called their Capital: if they are wary
They will not quote it at a sum immense.
The figure's immaterial - it may vary
From eighteen million down to eighteenpence.
I should put it rather low;
The good sense of doing so
Will be evident at once to any debtor.
When it's left to you to say
What amount you mean to pay,

Un mese, o ppoco ppiù, doppo er guadaggno
De la piastra, che ffece er zanto prete,
Venne la pasqua, e 'r gabbiano che ssapete
Cominciò a lavorà de scacciaraggno.

"Ch'edè? Un bucio ar zolaro! Oh, pprete caggno",
Fece allora er babbeo che conoscete:
"Eccolo indove vanno le monete!
Va che lo scudo mio cerca er compaggno?"

Doppo infatti du' notte de respiro,
Ecchete la Badessa della muffa
A daje giù cor zolito sospiro.

"Sor don Libborio mio, basta una fuffa",

11-11-1933
Bursa Prison
My one and only!
Your last letter says:
"My head is throbbing,
my heart is stunned!"
You say:
"If they hang you,
if I lose you,
I'll die!"
You'll live, my dear--
my memory will vanish like black smoke in the wind.
Of course you'll live, red-haired lady of my heart:
in the twentieth century
grief lasts
at most a year.

Death--

Come all ye good people, listen to me, pray,
While I speak of fashion and style of today;
If you will notice, kind hearts it will beguile,
To keep in fashion and putting on style.

Chorus --

Leave off the agony, leave off style,
Unless you've got money by you all the while,
If you'll look about you you'll often have to smile,
To see so many people putting on style.

People in this country they think it is the best;
They work hard for money and lay it out in dress;

As the Sun withdrew his rays from the garden, and the moon threw cushioned beams upon the flowers, I sat under the trees pondering upon the phenomena of the atmosphere, looking through the branches at the strewn stars which glittered like chips of silver upon a blue carpet; and I could hear from a distance the agitated murmur of the rivulet singing its way briskly into the valley.

1 Remember, O LORD, what is come upon us:
consider, and behold our reproach.

2 Our inheritance is turned to strangers,
our houses to aliens.

3 We are orphans and fatherless,
our mothers are as widows.

4 We have drunken our water for money;
our wood is sold unto us.

5 Our necks are under persecution:
we labor, and have no rest.

6 We have given the hand to the Egyptians, and to the Assyrians,
to be satisfied with bread.

7 Our fathers have sinned, and are not;

Sta accusì. La padrona cor padrone,
Volenno marità la padroncina
Je portonno davanti una matina,
Pe sceje, du' bravissime perzone.

Un de li dua aveva una ventina
D'anni, e du' spalle peggio de Sanzone;
E l'antro lo diceveno un riccone
Ma aveva un po' la testa cennerina.

Subbito er giuvinotto de quer paro
Se fece avanti a dì: "Sora Lucia,
Chi volete de noi? parlate chiaro".

"Pe dilla, me piacete voi e lui",
Rispose la zitella; "e ppijerìa
Er cicio vostro e li quadrini sui".

Li preti, già sse sa, fanno la caccia
A 'gni sorte de spece de quadrini.
Mo er mi' curato ha messo du' carlini
De murta a chi vò dì 'na parolaccia.

Toccò a me l'antra sera a la Pilaccia:
Ché giucanno co certi vitturini,
Come me vedde vince un lammertini,
Disse pe ffoja: "Eh buggiarà Ssantaccia!"

Er giorn'appresso er prete già informato,
Mannò a ffamme chiamà dar chiricone,
E m'intimò la pena der peccato.

Sur primo io vorze dì le mi' raggione;
Ma ppoi me la sbrigai: "Padre Curato,