From gambler's folly sprouted, a scandal most foul,
A bet made in jest, hath led to a howl,
Such treach'dous sport, by mischief and guile,
Yet God sees it all, each secret defile.
'Bout Barker, we sing, host of great might,
Whose 'Price is Right' ushered day into night.
In Heaven's great market, God asks him ‘come down’,
His wares be his virtues, his halo his crown.
A contest of fortune, stocks high and low,
Who knows which way the wild winds will blow?
The monks favor ale stocks, the friars love grain,
Yet, in God's own market, 'tis virtue comes rain.
