Heigh, Ho!

Heigh, ho! But they're talking, talking, As the cold, hard streets we're walking Seeking work at any wage, While the talkers rant and rage. Says the judge: 'Let's look up section Ninety-eight in this connection.' 'Right,' replied the advocate. 'But I submit that's out of date.' 'Sir!' the judge says, 'such things border On contempt. You're out of order!' Heigh, ho! But a man grows weary, Time flies; and the outlook's dreary, What care we for argument When bread alone can bring content?' 'What,' enquires the advocate, 'Happened in the Roman State, Back in forty-two B.C.? Let me read some history - Fifty pages. 'Tis but just.' 'Well,' the judge sighs, 'if you must. Heigh, ho! When life is over Must we rest in fields of clover, Listening to long, endless chater On some point that does not matter? Heigh, ho! I'd rather be Where they'll find some work for me.