The Bohemian

Up in my garret bleak and bare      I tilted back on my broken chair,      And my three old pals were with me there,          Hunger and Thirst and Cold;      Hunger scowled at his scurvy mate:      Cold cowered down by the hollow grate,      And I hated them with a deadly hate          As old as life is old.      So up in my garret that's near the sky      I smiled a smile that was thin and dry:      "You've roomed with me twenty year," said I,          "Hunger and Thirst and Cold;      But now, begone down the broken stair!      I've suffered enough of your spite . . . so there!"      Bang! Bang! I slapped on the table bare          A glittering heap of gold.      "Red flames will jewel my wine to-night;      I'll loose my belt that you've lugged so tight;      Ha! Ha! Dame Fortune is smiling bright;          The stuff of my brain I've sold;      Canaille of the gutter, up! Away!      You've battened on me for a bitter-long day;      But I'm driving you forth, and forever and aye,          Hunger and Thirst and Cold."      So I kicked them out with a scornful roar;      Yet, oh, they turned at the garret door;      Quietly there they spoke once more:          "The tale is not all told.      It's au revoir, but it's not good-by;      We're yours, old chap, till the day you die;      Laugh on, you fool! Oh, you'll never defy          Hunger and Thirst and Cold."