But let them pass,—O, how my heart
Would hate him, if he clothed thee not!
When late I saw thy favourite child,
I thought, like Dutchmen, “I’d go dead,”
But when I saw its breakfast piled,
I thought how much ’t would take for bread.
I saw it, and repressed my groans,
Its father in its face to see,
Because I knew my scanty funds
Were scarce enough for you and me.