The Song of the Strange Ascetic

If I had been a heathen,I'd have praised the purple vine,My slaves should dig the vineyards,And I would drink the wine;But Higgins is a heathen,And his slaves grow lean and grey,That he may drink some tepid milkExactly twice a day.

If I had been a heathen,I'd have crowned Neaera's curls,And filled my life with love affairs,My house with dancing girls;But Higgins is a heathen,And to lecture rooms is forced,Where his aunts, who are not married,Demand to be divorced.

If I had been a heathen,I'd have sent my armies forth,And dragged behind my chariotsThe Chieftains of the North;But Higgins is a heathen,And he drives the dreary quill,To lend the poor that funny cashThat makes them poorer still.

If I had been a heathen,I'd have piled my pyre on high,And in a great red whirlwindGone roaring to the sky;But Higgins is a heathen,And a richer man than I:And they put him in an oven,Just as if he were a pie.

Now who that runs can read it,The riddle that I write,Of why this poor old sinnerShould sin without delight;But I, I cannot read it(Although I run and run),Of them that do not have the faith,And will not have the fun.