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Robert W Service - Cardiac
Work rating: Medium

A mattock high he swung;
I watched him at his toil;
With never gulp of lung
He gashed the ruddy soil.
Thought I, I`d give my wealth
               To have his health.

With fortune I would part,
And privilege resign,
Could I but have his heart,
And he have mine . . .
Then suddenly I knew
               My wish was true.

Like him I swung: with awe
He marked my steady breath.
Then suddenly I saw
That he was sick to death.
My heart in him was frail
               And seemed to fail.

Said I: `Take back your heart
And I will bear with mine.
Poor lad! All wealth apart
`Tis murder I design,
Not all a Nabob`s wealth
               Is worth your health.`
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