Classic Poem

In the market-place of Kiev
A young Tchumak drank and drank:
Oxen, wagons, yokes and yoke-sticks,
All his wealth in drink he sank,
In the market-place of Kiev.

And at sundown he awoke —
How he peered into his purse!
All his pockets he turned out,
With full many a muttered curse,
In the market-place of Kiev.

Not a penny to be found!
For his revelling was naught.
" Pour, Shinkarka, half a quart! "
But she laughs at such a thought
Scorns to wait on such as he.

Then he takes his zhupan off.
" Oh, Shinkarka, even pour
Just a quarter of a quart! "
" To coat add four zloty more —
Then there's drink for revelling! "

To " mohyla " sad he went,
Gazed adown the valley green:
Oxen, wagons — wagered, spent —
Yokes and yoke-sticks, all his wealth
Lost in market-place of Kiev!

" Oi, I'm off to distant lands!
To Moldavia go I —
I'll be slaving seven years,
Then more oxen I shall buy,
And I'll be Tchumak again! "