Voyage To the Lower World (20)

Oh, my lands, my lands!—Ah, my money, my money!— Farewell, my fine palace!—The thousands that fellow will have to squander!—Ah, my helpless children!—To think of the vines I planted last year! Who, ah who, will pluck the grapes?

Why, Micyllus, have you never an Oh or an Ah? It is

Get along with you. What have I to dowith Ohs and Ahs? I’m enjoying the trip!

Still, just a groan or two. It’s expected.

Well, if I must, here goes.—Farewell, leather, farewell! Ah, Soles, old Soles!—Qh, ancient Boots!—Woe’s me! Never again shall I sit empty from morn till night; never again walk up and down, of a winter’s day, naked, unshod, with chattering teeth! My knife, my awl, will be another’s: whose, ah! whose?

Yes, that will do. We are nearly there.