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29. On Beggers.
No wonder that such swarmes of Beggers lurkeIn every street: 'Tis a worse trade to worke
Then begge: Yet some, if they can make but shift
To live, will thinke it scorne to thrive by gift:
'Tis a brave mind; but yet no wise fore-cast;
It is but Pride, and Pride will stoope at last;
We all are Beggers; should be so, at least;
Alas! we cannot worke: The very best
Our hands can doe, will not maintaine to live;
We can but hold them up, whilst others give:
No shame for helples Man, to pray in aid;
Great Sol'mon scornd not to be free o'th' Trade;
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He got, was treble fairer then his Crowne:
No wonder that he thriv'd by begging, so;
He was both Begger and a Chuser too:
O who would trust to Worke, that may obtaine
The Suit he beggs, without or sweat, or paine!
O what a priviledge, Great God, have we,
That have the Honour, but to begge on thee!
Thou dost not fright us with the tort'ring Whips
Of Bedels; nor dost answere our faint lips
With churlish language; Lord, thou dost not praise
The stricter Statute of last Henryes dayes:
Thou dost not dampe us with the empty voyce
Of Nothing for yee: If our clam'rous noyse
Should chance t'importune, turn'st thy gracious eye
Vpon our wants, and mak'st a quick supply:
Thou dost not brand us with th'opprobrious name
Of idle vagabonds: Thou know'st w'are lame,
And cannot worke; Thou dost not, Pharo-like,
Deny us Straw, and yet requier Brick:
Thou canst not heare us grone beneath our Taske,
But freely giv'st, what we have Faith to aske:
The most, for which my large desire shall plead,
To serve the present's but a Loafe of Bread,
Or but a Token (ev'n as Beggers use;)
That, of thy love, will fill my slender Cruse:
Lord, during life, Ile begge no greater Boone,
If at my Death, thou'lt give me but a Crowne.
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