Ballad: 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.