Original poems on several subjects | ||
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XVIII. Epitaph on a BEGGAR.
Some of their ancestors talk loud,Of ancient blood absurdly proud;
But I can call, nor make a pother,
Adam my sire, and Eve my mother.
Some fam'lies up a cent'ry run,
But mine commenc'd when time begun.
Beggars are then as good as others,
Monarchs and peers themselves but—brothers.
Original poems on several subjects | ||