Some coppers more or few’r—
Will get him a morsel of bread to eat,
And cannot make you poor.
Give alms! the memory will be
A balm unto thy heart,
A spring to thy limbs—a sight to thine eye—
And joy to ne’er depart.
Oh! curl not thy proud lip, nor turn
Thy form away in pride;
As he is, you may be e’er long,