There they sit, the old men by a shivering fire,
Still close and closer cowering, warmth is their desire.
In a costly palace, when the brave gallants dine,
They have store of good venison, with old canary wine,
With singing and music to heighten the cheer;
Coarse bits, with grudging, are the pauper’s best fare.
In a costly palace Youth is still caress’d
By a train of attendants which laugh at my young Lord’s jest;
In a wretched workhouse the contrary prevails,
Does age begin to prattle?—no man hearkeneth to his tales.