human
At length our eager tourist stands Within the famous Netherlands, And, strolling gaily here and there, In search of something rich or rare, A lordly mansion greets his eyes;
gpt
How beautiful! the Frenchman cries, And, bowing to the man who sate In livery at the garden gate,
human
Pray, Mr. Porter, if you please, Whose very charming grounds are these? And, pardon me, be pleased to tell Who in this splendid house may dwell. To which, in Dutch, the puzzled man Replied what seemed like
gpt
Nick Van Stann,
human
Thanks! said the Gaul;
gpt
In Amsterdam the Frenchman meets A thousand wonders in the streets, But most he marvels to behold A lady dressed in silk and gold; Gazing with rapture on the dame, He begs to know the lady's name, And hears, to raise his wonders more, The very words he heard before!
human
Mercie! he cries;
gpt
Ten millions! 'tis a pretty sum; I wish I had as much at home: I'd like to know, as I'm a sinner, What lucky fellow is the winner? Conceive our traveler's amaze To hear again the hackneyed phrase.
human
What? no! not Nick Van Stann again? Faith! he's the luckiest of men. You may be sure we don't advance So rapidly as that in France: A house, the finest in the land; A lovely garden, nicely planned; A perfect angel of a wife, And gold enough to last a life; There never yet was mortal man So blest--as Monsieur Nick Van Stann!
gpt
Mon Dieu! poor Nick Van Stann is dead; With such a house, and such a wife, It must be hard to part with life; And then, to lose that mammoth prize,-- He wins, and, pop,--the winner dies! Ah, well! his blessings came so fast, I greatly feared they could not last: And thus, we see, the sword of Fate Cuts down alike the small and great.
human
I don't understand.