And hide thy head, - thy shame thou canst not hide.”
Day after day was pass’d in pains and grief;
Week follow’d week, - and still was no relief:
Her boy was born - no lads nor lasses came
To grace the rite or give the child a name;
Nor grave conceited nurse, of office proud,
Bore the young Christian roaring through the crowd:
In a small chamber was my office done,
Where blinks through paper’d panes the setting sun;
Where noisy sparrows, perch’d on penthouse near,