PLAINT OF THE OLD PAUPER.
Some boast of their FORE-fathers—I—
I have not ONE!
I am, I think, like Joshua,
The son of NONE!
Heedless in youth, we little note
How quick time passes,
For then flows ruby wine, not sand,
In OUR glasses!
Rich friends (most pure in honor) all have fled
Sooner or later;
Pshaw! had they India’s spices, they’d not be
A nutmeg-GRATER!
I’ve neither chick nor child; as I have nothing,
Why, ’tis lucky rather;
Yet who that hears a squalling baby wishes
Not to be FATHER?
Some few years back my spirits and my youth
Were quite amazin’;
Brisk as a pony, or a lawyer’s clerk,
Just fresh from Gray’s Inn!
What am I now? weak, old, and poor, and by
The parish found;
Their PENCE keeps me, while many an ass
Enjoys the parish POUND!