No! did they guess what shifts I make, the grief
That I sustain, they’d fly to my relief;
But I am proud as poor; I cannot plead
My cause with them, nor show how much I need.
But to my Uncle’s Friend it is no shame, 780
Nor have I fear, to seem the thing I am;
My humble pittance life’s mere need supplies,
But all indulgence, all beyond denies.
I aid no pauper, I myself am poor;
I cannot help the beggar at my door;