And brought it with me: for his master’s son,
I am inform’d, has lately got a wife:
So I suppose this sum is scrap’d together
For a bride-gift. Alack, how hard it is
That he, who is already poor, should still
Throw in his mite to swell the rich man’s heap!
What he scarce, ounce by ounce, from short allowance,
Sorely defrauding his own appetite,
Has spar’d, poor wretch! shall she sweep all at once,
Unheeding with what labor it was got?