OLD King Cole was a merry old soul, And a merry old soul was he, Till he called for his pipe, and called for his bowl, And called for his fiddlers three. His pipe, that cost, in the days of old, But a dollar seventy-four, Now cost him twenty dollars in gold On account of the well-known war. His bowl—and though, in the olden time, When bowls were cheap and good At a cent apiece—now cost a dime, On account of the dearth of wood. And his fiddlers three who played so grand For a dollar and a half a day, Were known as The Ukulele Band In a midnight cabaret. Yes, Old King Cole was a merry old soul, And a m. o. s. was he, Till he called for his pipe, and called for his bowl, And called for his fiddlers three. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ZINNIAS by ANNA EMILIA BAGSTAD HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 20 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH EVENING by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE THE INTERCEPTED SALUTE by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN THE OLD MANOR HOUSE by ADA CAMBRIDGE THE DAWN OF PEACE by ALICE CARY |