Poetry Archives

Little by little Max made out the way
That Grootver pressed that poor harassed old man.
His money he must have, too long delay
Had turned the usurer to a ruffian.
“But let me take my ship, with many bales
Of cotton stuffs dyed crimson, green, and blue,
Cunningly patterned, made to suit the taste
Of mandarin’s ladies; when my battered sails
Open for home, such stores will I bring you
That all your former ventures will be counted waste.