What answer there was to be read.
Sir Self passed on the other side,
While from his hand a pittance came.
Quoth he: “This nature hath no pride,
Nor knoweth how to blush for shame.”
Then onward through the village lane
Of hovels dark, and cribbed, and low,
Where narrow door and knotted pane
Scant light and less of air bestow:
Scared men and women rested there,