And when your family’s in need,
And like to starve for want of breed,
You’ll grudge for haver-meal to pay,
To make them crowdies once a day.
These are your pranks, you murd’ring rogue,
That every day you have in vogue;
And if you do not mend your course,
I must go beg—or else do worse.”
Tom out his hand at last did stretch,
“What ails you now? you grumbling bitch,