POVERTY ROW
Brave old neighbours in Poverty Row,Why should we grudge to dwell with you?Pinch of poverty well ye know—Doubtful dinner and clouted shoe.Grinned the wolf at your doors, and yetYou sang your songs and you said your say.Lashed to labour by devil Debt,All were manful, and some were gay.What, old Chaucer! a royal jestOnce you made in your laughing verse:“No more goldfinch-song in the nest—Autumn nest of the empty purse!”Master Spenser, your looks are spare;Princes’ favours, how fleet they be!Thinking that yours was the selfsame fare,Crust or crumb shall be sweet to me.Worshipful Shakespeare of Stratford town,Prosperous-portly in doublet red,What of the days when you first came downTo London city to earn your bread?What of the lodging where Juliet’s faceStartled your dream with its southern glow,Flooding with splendour the sordid place?That was a garret in Poverty Row!Many a worthy has here, I ween,Made brief sojourn or long abode:Johnson, dining behind the screen;Goldsmith, vagrant along the road;Keats, ah, pitiful! poor and ill,Harassed and hurt, in his short spring day;Best Sir Walter, with flagging quillDigging the mountain of debt away.Needy comrade, whose evil star,Pallid-frowning, decrees you wrong,Greatly neighboured, in truth, we are;Hold your heart up and sing your song!Lift your eyes to the book-shelf where,Glorious-gilded, a shining show,Every man in his mansion fair,Dwell the princes of Poverty Row!
Brave old neighbours in Poverty Row,Why should we grudge to dwell with you?Pinch of poverty well ye know—Doubtful dinner and clouted shoe.Grinned the wolf at your doors, and yetYou sang your songs and you said your say.Lashed to labour by devil Debt,All were manful, and some were gay.What, old Chaucer! a royal jestOnce you made in your laughing verse:“No more goldfinch-song in the nest—Autumn nest of the empty purse!”Master Spenser, your looks are spare;Princes’ favours, how fleet they be!Thinking that yours was the selfsame fare,Crust or crumb shall be sweet to me.Worshipful Shakespeare of Stratford town,Prosperous-portly in doublet red,What of the days when you first came downTo London city to earn your bread?What of the lodging where Juliet’s faceStartled your dream with its southern glow,Flooding with splendour the sordid place?That was a garret in Poverty Row!Many a worthy has here, I ween,Made brief sojourn or long abode:Johnson, dining behind the screen;Goldsmith, vagrant along the road;Keats, ah, pitiful! poor and ill,Harassed and hurt, in his short spring day;Best Sir Walter, with flagging quillDigging the mountain of debt away.Needy comrade, whose evil star,Pallid-frowning, decrees you wrong,Greatly neighboured, in truth, we are;Hold your heart up and sing your song!Lift your eyes to the book-shelf where,Glorious-gilded, a shining show,Every man in his mansion fair,Dwell the princes of Poverty Row!
Brave old neighbours in Poverty Row,Why should we grudge to dwell with you?Pinch of poverty well ye know—Doubtful dinner and clouted shoe.Grinned the wolf at your doors, and yetYou sang your songs and you said your say.Lashed to labour by devil Debt,All were manful, and some were gay.
Brave old neighbours in Poverty Row,
Why should we grudge to dwell with you?
Pinch of poverty well ye know—
Doubtful dinner and clouted shoe.
Grinned the wolf at your doors, and yet
You sang your songs and you said your say.
Lashed to labour by devil Debt,
All were manful, and some were gay.
What, old Chaucer! a royal jestOnce you made in your laughing verse:“No more goldfinch-song in the nest—Autumn nest of the empty purse!”Master Spenser, your looks are spare;Princes’ favours, how fleet they be!Thinking that yours was the selfsame fare,Crust or crumb shall be sweet to me.
What, old Chaucer! a royal jest
Once you made in your laughing verse:
“No more goldfinch-song in the nest—
Autumn nest of the empty purse!”
Master Spenser, your looks are spare;
Princes’ favours, how fleet they be!
Thinking that yours was the selfsame fare,
Crust or crumb shall be sweet to me.
Worshipful Shakespeare of Stratford town,Prosperous-portly in doublet red,What of the days when you first came downTo London city to earn your bread?What of the lodging where Juliet’s faceStartled your dream with its southern glow,Flooding with splendour the sordid place?That was a garret in Poverty Row!
Worshipful Shakespeare of Stratford town,
Prosperous-portly in doublet red,
What of the days when you first came down
To London city to earn your bread?
What of the lodging where Juliet’s face
Startled your dream with its southern glow,
Flooding with splendour the sordid place?
That was a garret in Poverty Row!
Many a worthy has here, I ween,Made brief sojourn or long abode:Johnson, dining behind the screen;Goldsmith, vagrant along the road;Keats, ah, pitiful! poor and ill,Harassed and hurt, in his short spring day;Best Sir Walter, with flagging quillDigging the mountain of debt away.
Many a worthy has here, I ween,
Made brief sojourn or long abode:
Johnson, dining behind the screen;
Goldsmith, vagrant along the road;
Keats, ah, pitiful! poor and ill,
Harassed and hurt, in his short spring day;
Best Sir Walter, with flagging quill
Digging the mountain of debt away.
Needy comrade, whose evil star,Pallid-frowning, decrees you wrong,Greatly neighboured, in truth, we are;Hold your heart up and sing your song!Lift your eyes to the book-shelf where,Glorious-gilded, a shining show,Every man in his mansion fair,Dwell the princes of Poverty Row!
Needy comrade, whose evil star,
Pallid-frowning, decrees you wrong,
Greatly neighboured, in truth, we are;
Hold your heart up and sing your song!
Lift your eyes to the book-shelf where,
Glorious-gilded, a shining show,
Every man in his mansion fair,
Dwell the princes of Poverty Row!