Bab Ballads (version 2) — To The Terrestrial Globe. By A Miserable Wretch

TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE.

BY A MISERABLE WRETCH

ROLL on, thou ball, roll on!

Through pathless realms of Space Roll on!

What though I’m in a sorry case?

What though I cannot meet my bills?

What though I suffer toothache’s ills?

What though I swallow countless pills?

Never _you_ mind!

Roll on!

Roll on, thou ball, roll on!

Through seas of inky air Roll on!

It’s true I’ve got no shirts to wear;

It’s true my butcher’s bill is due;

It’s true my prospects all look blue— But don’t let that unsettle you!

Never _you_ mind!

Roll on!

[_It rolls on_.