Fortune Poem by Pierre Jean de Beranger

Rap! rap!--Is that my lass--
Rap! rap!--is rapping there?
It is Fortune. Let her pass!
I'll not open the door to her.
Rap! rap!--

All of my friends are making gay
My little room, with lips wine-wet:
We only wait for you, Lisette!
Fortune! you may go your way.
Rap! rap!--

If we might credit half her boast,
What wonders gold has in its gift!
Well, we have twenty bottles left
And still some credit with our host.
Rap! rap!--

Her pearls, and rubies too, she quotes,
And mantles more than sumptuous:
Lord! but the purple's naught to us,--
We're just now taking off our coats.
Rap! rap!--

She treats us as the rawest youths,
With talk of genius and of fame:
Thank calumny, alas, for shame!
Our faith is spoiled in laurel growths.
Rap! rap!--

Far from our pleasures, we care not
Her highest heavens to attain;
She fills her big balloons in vain
Till we have swamped our little boat.
Rap! rap!--

Yet all our neighbors crowd to be
Within her ring of promises,
Ah! surely, friends! our mistresses
Will cheat us more agreeably.
Rap! rap!--