Poor Mr. Midas

O POOR Mr. Midas did nothing but think Of the sound that his money made,--chink, chink, chink! He filled his pockets, he filled his shoes, But the more he gathered the less he could use.

It weighed on his mind till he scarce slept a wink, And then he would dream of the chink, chink, chink. He filled his boxes, he filled his bed, And so there was nothing to fill but his head.