Classic Poem

A G AUL late one night, who had just come to Rome,
Was making his way from the Colonnade home,
When he caught his big toe and his ankle-bone sprained,
And stretched at full length on the pavement remained.
What was to be done? He could not himself rise,
And the one servant with him was so small in size
That he scarcely a very light lantern could bear,
And helplessly gazed at his lord lying there.
Chance came to his aid; for four slaves came along
With a pauper's cheap corpse, one of that endless throng
Who move to the burial-ground every day,
And his man plucked up courage the bearers to stay —
" Please stop: you may do what you like with the dead,
If you'll take on your bier my fat master instead."
The loads were soon changed and the Gaul, lifted high,
Made shift on the pauper's scant litter to lie.
We might very well now sing the circus refrain,
" You are dead, master Gaul" — over him once again.