In a retired spot,
A miser had got
A very large treasure in store.
And it was his delight,
Each morn and each night,
To count it and add to it more.
He had made the hole deep,
And he thought none would peep,
To find out his secret retreat.
But a servant so sly,
His master did spy,
And thought that his cunning he'd beat.
So one dark winter night,
He took out his light,
And to the field hastened away;
And he laughed in his sleeve,
To think how 'twould grieve
His master to miss it next day.
And indeed the distress
Of his lord you may guess,
For words can't describe it, I'm sure.
He tore out his hair,
Clasp'd his hands in despair
And cried he was ruined and poor.
A man passing by,
His grief chanced to spy;
And told him, "'tis useless to mourn.
You can look at the hole,
To solace your soul,
Although all the money is gone."
[Illustration]