The dogs, I mean,—and that will never do;
I think I’ve found a way to see you through.
I too have worries. Ever since I met
Prosperity I have been sore beset
By begging letters, charities, and cranks,
All very short in gold and long in thanks.
Now, if you’ll come and sit by my front door
From eight o’clock each morning, say, till four,
Then every one will think that I am poor,
And from their pesterings I’ll be secure.