Classic Poem

A capitalist was I:
A mighty King of Cash:
When Stock I would sell, or buy,
The nation ran close upon smash.
My name on a bundle of rags,
To the City was Life, or Death.
I had but to tighten my bags
And London gaspt for breath.
O a fickle race are fools!
Their worship is profane
The capitalist's abased,
The capitalist's despised
And another Idol rules
The empire of Chicane.


You talk of Peter's will,
And Russia's vast domain:
Why, the whole world was my mill,
Mankind the grist & grain.
I ruled without a rod:
My sovereignty was neat,
For Mammon I set up as God,
And taught men to compete.
Oh! Mammon, Mammon, Mammon!
Men worshipped thee profane.


Small Kings in Europe stood,
And Slaves kneel'd to their thrones:
But mine of Norman blood,
Best Norman marrowbones.
I spake but three short words
And 'twas a sight to see
The anatomy of Lords
A bowing machine to me.


Tho' I walk'd in the marriage bond,
My Lady ogled low,
At cards, the Duchess was fond
Too fond upon my toe.
A harem of noble Dames
With languishing eye and a pout [?]
Proclaim'd me the type of Bull:
They roasted me with flames
And flatter'd me to beef: —
Hung round me breathing flames
And wooing me for scrip.


In Parliament I reign'd
A Prince rever'd & bold:
The doctrine I maintain'd
That facts are made of gold.
" And facts, " said I, " Make laws. "
Thereat I smack'd my breech:
What thunders of applause
Followed that famous speech!
'Twas I foresaw the time,
And understood the Age,
Chicanery sublime
Through me became the rage.


'Twas I begot that thing
Which men a Crisis call:
Likewise I pulled a string
And Panic o'ershadow'd them all.
Like juggler's balls I toss'd
This couple in the sun,
The nation paid the cost,
And thousands were ruin'd for one.