The Complaints of the PoorAnd wherefore do the Poor complain?The rich man asked of me,—Come walk abroad with me, I saidAnd I will answer thee.Twas evening and the frozen streetsWere cheerless to behold,And we were wrapt and coated well,And yet we were a-cold.We met an old bare-headed man,His locks were few and white,I ask’d him what he did abroadIn that cold winter’s night:’Twas bitter keen indeed, he said,But at home no fire had he,And therefore, he had come abroadTo ask for charity.We met a young bare-footed child,And she begg’d loud and bold,I ask’d her what she did abroadWhen the wind it blew so cold;She said her father was at homeAnd he lay sick a-bed,And therefore was it she was sentAbroad to beg for bread.We saw a woman sitting downUpon a stone to rest,She had a baby at her backAnd another at her breast;I ask’d her why she loiter’d thereWhen the wind it was so chill;She turn’d her head and bade the childThat scream’d behind be still.She told us that her husband servedA soldier, far away,And therefore to her parish sheWas begging back her way.We met a girl; her dress was looseAnd sunken was her eye,Who with the wanton’s hollow voiceAddress’d the passers by;I ask’d her what there was in guiltThat could her heart allureTo shame, disease, and late remorse?She answer’d, she was poor.I turn’d me to the rich man thenFor silently stood he,You ask’d me why the Poor complain,And these have answer’d thee.
And wherefore do the Poor complain?The rich man asked of me,—Come walk abroad with me, I saidAnd I will answer thee.Twas evening and the frozen streetsWere cheerless to behold,And we were wrapt and coated well,And yet we were a-cold.We met an old bare-headed man,His locks were few and white,I ask’d him what he did abroadIn that cold winter’s night:’Twas bitter keen indeed, he said,But at home no fire had he,And therefore, he had come abroadTo ask for charity.We met a young bare-footed child,And she begg’d loud and bold,I ask’d her what she did abroadWhen the wind it blew so cold;She said her father was at homeAnd he lay sick a-bed,And therefore was it she was sentAbroad to beg for bread.We saw a woman sitting downUpon a stone to rest,She had a baby at her backAnd another at her breast;I ask’d her why she loiter’d thereWhen the wind it was so chill;She turn’d her head and bade the childThat scream’d behind be still.She told us that her husband servedA soldier, far away,And therefore to her parish sheWas begging back her way.We met a girl; her dress was looseAnd sunken was her eye,Who with the wanton’s hollow voiceAddress’d the passers by;I ask’d her what there was in guiltThat could her heart allureTo shame, disease, and late remorse?She answer’d, she was poor.I turn’d me to the rich man thenFor silently stood he,You ask’d me why the Poor complain,And these have answer’d thee.