They sleep together in one den,
Ten in a row - ten beds, ten men;
Three dying men are in that room,
Whose coughs at night will soon become
Death's rattle: drunkards in bed
Sound as they worried things half dead.

Jim Lasker dreamt, when in that den,
He saw ten beds that had ten men;
One sleeper in a sack was sewn,
With nothing of his features shown:
Jim felt that face he could not see -
'This face is mine, I'm dead,' said he.

         • • • • •

'James Lasker, you're the last to rise;
Wake up, wake up!' the master cries.
'You've not paid me for daylight's sleep -
Suppose you had some kids to keep?
Ah, now I see: this man of mine
Came here to die, not sleep - the swine!'