TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE
        BY A MISERABLE WRETCH

                    by W. S. Gilbert


Roll on, thou ball, roll on!
Through pathless realms of Space
               Roll on!
What though I'm in a sorry case?
What though I cannot meet my bills?
What though I suffer toothache's ills?
What though I swallow countless pills?
          Never you mind!
               Roll on!

Roll on, thou ball, roll on!
Through seas of inky air
               Roll on!
It's true I have no shirts to wear;
It's true my butcher's bill is due;
It's true my prospects all look blue--
But don't let that unsettle you:
          Never you mind!
               Roll on!

                         [It rolls on.