The lavish legacy of Frank Legree
No doubt is sorrowing him yet;
For once he owned a million francs in gold,
But now he owes a million debt.
When first he eyed his huge inheritance
His uncle left to him in fee,
He smiled to see himself a millionaire,
And moved in best society.
He built a tomb for his dear uncle then,
And epitaphed him “grand old man,”
Though in his life he had ne’er thought of him
And liked him better dead than--
Alive. So then he called his friends around,--
Patrons of wine and song and ease;
Mild drinks did make him thirst for stronger gins,
And small jags grew protracted sprees.
He squandered thousands on the race course;
In dice he lost at every throw;
He scattered change like oatmeal fed to chickens;
His pile soon melted down like snow--
In July. His banker sent a gentle invitation
To straighten his o’erdrawn account.
He did. He sent a bullet in his brain
And never stopped to ask the amount.
The lavish legacy of Frank Legree
No doubt is sorrowing him yet;
Lieu of an earthly million francs in gold,
He’s serving time for soul lost debt.