Nicholas BindleWere you not ashamed, fellow citizens,When my estate was probated and everyone knewHow small a fortune I left?—You who hounded me in life,To give, give, give to the churches, to the poor,To the village!—me who had already given much.And think you not I did not knowThat the pipe-organ, which I gave to the church,Played its christening songs when Deacon Rhodes,Who broke and all but ruined me,Worshipped for the first time after his acquittal?
Were you not ashamed, fellow citizens,When my estate was probated and everyone knewHow small a fortune I left?—You who hounded me in life,To give, give, give to the churches, to the poor,To the village!—me who had already given much.And think you not I did not knowThat the pipe-organ, which I gave to the church,Played its christening songs when Deacon Rhodes,Who broke and all but ruined me,Worshipped for the first time after his acquittal?