Cardiac

 A mattock high he swung;
I watched him at his toil;
With never gulp of lung
He gashed the ruddy soil.

Thought I, I'd give my wealth
 To have his health.


With fortune I would part,
And privilege resign,
Could I but have his heart,
And he have mine .
 .
 .

Then suddenly I knew
 My wish was true.


Like him I swung: with awe
He marked my steady breath.

Then suddenly I saw
That he was sick to death.

My heart in him was frail
 And seemed to fail.


Said I: 'Take back your heart
And I will bear with mine.

Poor lad! All wealth apart
'Tis murder I design,
Not all a Nabob's wealth
 Is worth your health.
'

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