I’ll teach them ’tis otherwise there,
With the cells and police-court at hand,
And no speaking allowed in the Square.
So let orators note my behest,
Let each pauper slink back to his lair;
They can go to the workhouse for rest,
While I to my mansion repair.
There’s a workhouse in everyplace,
And the guardians (encouraging thought)
Give relief when they’ve sifted each case—