No. 100
Born in the fields as free as air,
Then early torn from home,
And in the mansions of the great,
A slave I'm forced to roam.
From room to room I wander there,
But never go alone,
I'm always taken by the hand,
Until my task is done.
Although the badge of royal race,
I'm found with mean and poor.
And oft, with them, I hide my face
Behind the kitchen door.