And thy own bed is better than the stone sofas of a station house,
Or, being James Edwards, compelled to call thyself John Brown.
There is not one crusher who is proof against the waistcoat pocket,
And the same font of happiness hath even power over reporters.
I saw a beggar in St. Giles’s, and another beggar punch’d his head,
For the first had collected more coppers at his crossing than the other
His broom fell into the mud, and he swore an oath.
Anon a baked potato-man came up, with a high-pressure can,
And gave him of his store; the first beggar was grateful.
He, poor stricken cadger, picked up his broom with a curse,