My breast being charged with economic fire,—
Was mulcted of his customary fee.
I was informed, at first he did not seem
To grasp the cruel sense of what he heard,
But asked, "Wot's this 'ere game?" as if some dream
Of evil portents all his pulses stirred;
Then, muttering, he turned, and went his way
Dejected, broken! I had stopped his beer!
Ah! from that Dustman who, alas! can say
I did not wring a sad and silent tear!