The oil merchant handles gold and diamonds; the grain merchant does business with silver, but the wine merchant is a poor man.
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The Ballad of the Murdered Merchant
All stark and cold the merchant lay,
All cold and stark lay he.
And who hath killed the fair merchant?
Now tell the truth to me.
Oh, I have killed this fair merchant
Will never again draw breath;
Oh, I have made this fair merchant
To come unto his death.
Oh, why hast thou killed this fair merchant
Whose corpse I now behold?
And why hast caused this man to lie
In death all stark and cold?
Oh, I have killed this fair merchant
Whose kith and kin make moan,
For that he hath stolen my precious time
When he useth the telephone.
The telephone bell rang full and clear;
The receiver did I seize.
"Hello!" quoth I, and quoth a girl,
"Hello! . . . One moment, please."
I waited moments ane and twa,
And moments three and four,
And then I sought the fair merchant
And spilled his selfish gore.
That business man who scorneth to waste
His moments sae rich and fine
In calling a man to the telephone
Shall never again waste mine!
And every time a henchwoman
Shall cause me a moment's loss,
I'll forthwith fare to that office
And stab to death her boss.
Rise up! Rise up! thou blesséd knight!
And off thy bended knees!
Go forth and slay all folk who make
Us wait "One moment, please."
poem by Franklin P. Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mr Dream Merchant
(ross / weiss)
Hey, mr. dream merchant
Everything depends on you
Oh, hey, mr. dream merchant
Bring him back to me
And make my dreams come true
When I said goodbye
To my love
I didnt mean to make him cry
I didnt realise that I had love
Now I need him by my side
Oh, hey, mr. dream merchant
Everything depends on you
Oh, hey, mr. dream merchant
Bring him back to me
And make my dreams come true
You should have told this fool
To stop it
You should have made this blind girl see
I got my pride back in my pocket
Wont you bring him back to me?
Oh, hey, mr. dream merchant
Everything depends on you
Oh, hey, mr. dream merchant
Cant you make him see
We need each other?
Im no good alone
I really really, really love him
Bring him back to me
And make my dreams come true
Oh, hey, mr. dream merchant
Cant you make him see
We need each other?
Im no good alone
I really, really love him
Bring him back to me
And make my dreams come true
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The thought in my mind was that I must be a good merchant. If I were a good merchant, the rest would probably take care of itself.
quote by James Cash Penney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Give It a Year
Rose Byrne, Rafe Spall, Alex Macqueen, Stephen Merchant, Stephen Merchant, Minnie Driver, Jason Flemyng, Nigel Planer, Clare Higgins, Anna Faris
by Dan Mazer from I Give It a Year (2013)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Responsibilities - Introduction
Pardon, old fathers, if you still remain
Somewhere in ear-shot for the story's end,
Old Dublin merchant "free of the ten and four"
Or trading out of Galway into Spain;
Old country scholar, Robert Emmet's friend,
A hundred-year-old memory to the poor;
Merchant and scholar who have left me blood
That has not passed through any huckster's loin,
Soldiers that gave, whatever die was cast:
A Butler or an Armstrong that withstood
Beside the brackish waters of the Boyne
James and his Irish when the Dutchman crossed;
Old merchant skipper that leaped overboard
After a ragged hat in Biscay Bay;
You most of all, silent and fierce old man,
Because the daily spectacle that stirred
My fancy, and set my boyish lips to say,
"Only the wasteful virtues earn the sun";
Pardon that for a barren passion's sake,
Although I have come close on forty-nine,
I have no child, I have nothing but a book,
Nothing but that to prove your blood and mine.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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This Dog Loves Its Master
This poem tells a simple story
Of a man and his dog
A young vagrant in rags and his dog.
One was happy one was bored
One was hungry one was sad
One was unsatisfied to be clad
In cloth so coarse and sore to the eyes
One was content enough for someone nice
To pat him and stroke him time to time
Even if he had to eat and drink grime
Though a small piece of meat would be great
And a scratching post to relieve the itch in his head
One rainy day the vagrant grew tired of begging
And decided to sell his companion
With the money he’d be able to buy something
Even if its food miserable like onion
And he sold his faithful dog to a merchant
And received a piece of gold
He thought: It’s more than worth for a dog so old
As he thanked the smiling merchant
While the vagrant enjoyed a short-lived luxury
And resumed his former state
His faithful dog lived in lavishness
But it never got its master off its head
One day it took a big piece of meat
And ran to look for its master
It found him shivering and dirty as can be
And gave him the meat to satisfy his hunger
The vagrant was sorry and hugged his dog
And cried and regretted his actions
But the gold was paid
He could not but said
“Go! And return to that mansion! ”
Beating the dog as painlessly as can be
And forcing it to return
The merchant then came
And said “Be ashamed,
For this dog loves its master.”
poem by Morphing Professor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If you would be a merchant fine, beware o' auld horses, herring, and wine.
A merchant who approaches business with the idea of serving the public well has nothing to fear from the competition.
quote by James Cash Penney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Merchant Ship
A swallow swoops for flitting flies
While Johnny rubs his sleepy eyes,
(As morning reaps the rising sun)
And watches Captain's day begun:
The creeks arise from melting snows -
The Merchant Ship's in stark repose...
A rodent scrapes for scattered crumbs,
While Johnny bites his swelling tongue
(Beneath the blazing sun above)
As Captain counts the dead with love:
And while the quiet river flows
The Merchant Ship just sits and grows...
A serpent weaves amongst the weeds
And Johnny finally starts the deeds
(As evening hails the dying day)
To stop the Captain at his play:
And as the flooding rivers grow
The Merchant Ship rocks to and fro...
An owl above has watchful eyes,
She watches hard as Johnny dies
(Beneath the broken sky of gloom)
While tumbling Captain to his doom:
And with the raging undertow
The Merchant Ship is sucked below...
A chipper bird drinks morning dew
And Johnny Junior starts anew
(He's bathing in the dawning rays)
To rectify the former days:
And creeks arise from melting snow
As virgin rivers start to flow...
poem by Terry O'Leary
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North Atlantic Sea
The North Atlantic Sea raged bitter cold
as a convoy of ships sailed swiftly as could be.
A wolf pack of submarines
were waiting somewhere
beneath the cold waters there.
Everyone scanned the icy waters
for some tell tale sign
as the merchant navy steamed on.
A destroyer was their bodyguard
in case trouble flared.
The sky’s clouds were grey
and filled with snow and followed them
into the eastern horizon.
Suddenly an enormous explosion
lit up the sky.
A U-boat had hit a target
and many brave men
were heading for a watery grave.
The destroyer raced towards the stricken ship
as another explosion rocked the sea.
The U-boats were finding their targets.
The destroyer disengaged
and started a depth charge run.
The merchant ships could only steam ahead
as fast as they could
through the icy water
of the North Atlantic Sea.
The destroyer circled again and again,
until finally the bow of a U-boat
surfaced off the port side.
Sailors jumped into the waters
hoping to save their lives.
The destroyer’s Captain ordered
lifeboats to be lowered
to save as many as he could.
Two dozen lives were saved that day
in a bleak November.
The destroyer then went back
to help the merchant men.
Several of the merchant fleet
had slowed and picked up survivors there.
However, many were lost
to the North Atlantic Sea
on this day in the life
of one convoy during the war,
and the brave men
who faced terrible conditions there
on a cruel sea.
12 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Portia: If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages princes' palaces.
line from The Merchant of Venice, Act I, Scene 2 by William Shakespeare (1598)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Gratiano: Let me play the fool:
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,
And let my liver rather heat with wine
Then my heart cool with mortifying groans.
line from The Merchant of Venice, Act I, Scene 1 by William Shakespeare (1598)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Gratiano: Let me play the fool;
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.
And let my liver rather heat with wine
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
line from The Merchant of Venice, Act I, Scene 1 by William Shakespeare (1598)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Well, actually, I had been working as a consultant to former companies of Enron, or predecessor companies of Enron and, so, I joined in 1990 to really start our wholesale merchant business.
quote by Jeffrey Skilling
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Twenty Gallons of Sleep
MEASURE me out from the fathomless tun
That somewhere or other you keep
In your vasty cellars, O wealthy one,
Twenty gallons of sleep.
Twenty gallons of balmy sleep,
Dreamless, and deep, and mild,
Of the excellent brand you used to keep
When I was a little child.
I’ve tasted of all your vaunted stock,
Your clarets and ports of Spain,
The liquid gold of your famous hock,
And your matchless dry champagne.
Of your rich muscats and your sherries fine,
I’ve drunk both well and deep;
Then measure me out, O merchant mine,
Twenty gallons of sleep.
Twenty gallons of slumber soft,
Of the innocent, baby kind,
When the angels flutter their wings aloft
And the pillow with down is lined.
I have drawn the corks, and drained the lees,
Of every vintage pressed;
If I’ve felt the sting of my honey bees,
I’ve taken it with the rest.
I have lived my life, and I’ll not repine;
As I sowed I was bound to reap;
Then measure me out, O merchant mine,
Twenty gallons of sleep.
poem by Agnes Louise Storrie
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Ch 03 On The Excellence Of Contentment Story 11
A brave warrior who had received a dreadful wound in the Tatar war was informed that a certain merchant possessed a medicine which he would probably not refuse to give if asked for; but it is related that the said merchant was also well known for his avarice.
If instead of bread he had the sun in his table-cloth
No one could see daylight till the day of resurrection.
The warrior replied: ‘If I ask for the medicine he will either give it or refuse it and if he gives it maybe it will profit me, and maybe not. At any rate the inconvenience of asking it from him is a lethal poison.’
Whatever thou obtainest by entreaties from base men
Will profit thy body but injure thy soul.
And philosophers have said: ‘If for instance the water of life were to be exchanged for a good reputation, no wise man would purchase it because it is preferable to die with honour than to live in disgrace.’
To eat coloquinth from the hand of a sweet-tempered man
Is better than confectionery from the hand of an ill-humoured fellow.