For plenty there a residence has found,
And grandeur a magnificent abode.
Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!
Here, as I craved a morsel of their bread,
A pampered menial drove me from the door,
To seek a shelter in an humble shed.
Oh! take me to your hospitable dome:
Keen blows the wind and piercing is the cold:
Short is my passage to the friendly tomb,
For I am poor, and miserably old.