The Tragedy

Oh, I never felt so wretched, and things never looked so blue     Since the days I gulped the physic that my Granny used to brew;     For a friend in whom I trusted, entering my room last night,     Stole a bottleful of Heenzo from the desk whereon I write.     I am certain sure he did it (though he never would let on),     For all last week he had a cold and to-day his cough is gone;     Now I'm sick and sore and sorry, and I'm sad for friendship's sake     (It was better than the cough-cure that our Granny used to make).     Oh, he might have pinched my whisky, and he might have pinched my beer,     Or all the fame or money that I make while writing here,     Oh, he might have shook the blankets and I'd not have made a row,     If he'd only left my Heenzo till the morning, anyhow.     So I've lost my faith in Mateship, which was all I had to lose     Since I lost my faith in Russia and myself and got the blues;     And so trust turns to suspicion, and so friendship turns to hate,     Even Kaiser Bill would never pinch his Heenzo from a mate.