Why should we grudge to dwell with you?
Pinch of poverty well ye know—
Doubtful dinner and clouted shoe.
Grinned the wolf at your doors, and yet
You sang your songs and you said your say.
Lashed to labour by devil Debt,
All were manful, and some were gay.
What, old Chaucer! a royal jest
Once you made in your laughing verse:
“No more goldfinch-song in the nest—