THE rich man, in the diatribes of virtuous and moral scribes, is full of sin and tricks and guile, dishonestly he gets his pile. Wealth is for him the only lure; he has no patience with the poor; that he may gain his place on deck, he steps upon his brother's neck. He is a pirate and a fraud; the law should strip him of his wad. We applaud this sort of stuff, and hail the scribes, "Lay on, MacDuff!" We yell "hooray!" and wave our hats, and help to roast the plutocrats. And while we cuss the wealthy lads, we're busy hustling for the scads. We bust suspenders every day, in fear a plunk will get away. The more we get the more we need; we have the rich man's grasping greed, without the wondrous skill he owns for gathering the shining bones. And that is why he has our hate; we're down on any soulless skate who takes in plunks where we get dimes; we can't forgive his godless crimes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STILL, STILL WITH THEE by HARRIET BEECHER STOWE LACHRYMAE MUSARUM (THE DEATH OF TENNYSON) by WILLIAM WATSON THE PROPHECY OF SAMUEL SEWALL by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER I DREAM I'M LEAVING by MARGARET AHO |