The Tragedy

Oh, I never felt so wretched, and things never looked so blue Since the days I gulped the physic that my Granny used to brew; For a friend in whom I trusted, entering my room last night, Stole a bottleful of Heenzo from the desk whereon I write. I am certain sure he did it (though he never would let on), For all last week he had a cold and to-day his cough is gone; Now I’m sick and sore and sorry, and I’m sad for friendship’s sake (It was better than the cough-cure that our Granny used to make). Oh, he might have pinched my whisky, and he might have pinched my beer, Or all the fame or money that I make while writing here – Oh, he might have shook the blankets and I’d not have made a row, If he’d only left my Heenzo till the morning, anyhow. So I’ve lost my faith in Mateship, which was all I had to lose Since I lost my faith in Russia and myself and got the blues; And so trust turns to suspicion, and so friendship turns to hate, Even Kaiser Bill would never pinch his Heenzo from a mate.