Or send you gold, which ne'er fails to impart
The balm of comfort to a broken heart.'
"I willing swear, but not through threats,' said I,
"For life's a burden; but I'll tell you why:
Uncertain fears shall wear away his heart,
And even wealth shall fail to soothe his smart.'
"He left—the babe beneath my couch was laid,
Beside the gold which seemed for murder paid,
With larger sums at diff'rent seasons brought,
For though half starved I yet would handle naught.