I wander’d with a vagrant crew;
A common care, a common cost;
Their sorrows and their sins I knew;
With them, by want on error forced,
Like them, I base and guilty grew.
Few are my years, not so my crimes;
The age which these sad looks declare,
Is Sorrow’s work, it is not Time’s,
And I am old in shame and care.
Taught to believe the world a place