The Song of the Strange Ascetic

If I had been a Heathen,

I'd have praised the purple vine,

My slaves should dig the vineyards,

And I would drink the wine.

But Higgins is a Heathen,

And his slaves grow lean and grey,

That he may drink some tepid

Exactly twice a day.

If I had been a Heathen,

I'd have crowned Neaera's curls,

And filled my life with love affairs,

My house with dancing girls;

But Higgins is a Heathen,

And to lecture rooms is forced,

Where his aunts, who are not married,

Demand to be divorced.

If I had been a Heathen,

I'd have sent my armies forth,

And dragged behind my

The Chieftains of the North.

But Higgins is a Heathen,

And he drives the dreary quill,

To lend the poor that funny

That makes them poorer still.

If I had been a Heathen,

I'd have piled my pyre on high,

And in a great red

Gone roaring to the sky;

But Higgins is a Heathen,

And a richer man than I:

And they put him in an oven,

Just as if he were a pie.

Now who that runs can read it,

The riddle that I write,

Of why this poor old sinner,

Should sin without delight-But I,

I cannot read it(Although I run and run),

Of them that do not have the faith,

And will not have the fun.