 | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World |  |
Naught hath he tó his mouth:
Save daily pittance óf lean rice, that cast
Unwilling worldly wights, in his almes dish:
And rusty weed, which laps his clayling corse;
Hewed éven as we do see Earths foster-dust,
Beneath our feet; stitcht ónly of dísused clouts.
And ín his hand, that which his feeble pace
Upholds, a staff.
Save daily pittance óf lean rice, that cast
Unwilling worldly wights, in his almes dish:
And rusty weed, which laps his clayling corse;
Hewed éven as we do see Earths foster-dust,
Beneath our feet; stitcht ónly of dísused clouts.
And ín his hand, that which his feeble pace
Upholds, a staff.
| Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | |