TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE.
Reading edition
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.)