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1836–1911

TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE.

William Schwenck Gilbert

Roll on, thou ball, roll on! Through pathless realms of Space Roll on! What, though I'm in a sorry case?

What, though I cannot meet my bills? What, though I suffer toothache's ills? What, though I swallow countless pills? Never you mind!

Roll on! Roll on, thou ball, roll on! Through seas of inky air Roll on!

It's true I've got no shirts to wear; It's true my butcher's bill is due; It's true my prospects all look blue — But do n't let that unsettle you!

Never you mind! Roll on! ( It rolls on. )

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TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE. · William Schwenck Gilbert · Poetry Cove