THE BEGGAR MAN

Abject, stooping, old, and wan, See yon wretched beggar man; Once a father’s hopeful heir, Once a mother’s tender care. When too young to understand, He but scorch’d his little hand By the candle’s flaming light Attracted, dancing, spiral, bright; Clasping fond her darling round, A thousand kisses heal’d the wound: Now, abject, stooping, old, and wan, No mother tends the beggar man.

Then nought too good for him to wear, With cherub face and flaxen hair, In fancy’s choicest gauds array’d, Cap of lace with rose to aid; Milk-white hat and feather blue; Shoes of red; and coral too; With silver bells to please his ear, And charm the frequent ready tear. Now, abject, stooping, old, and wan, Neglected is the beggar man. See the boy advance in age, And learning spreads her useful page; In vain—for giddy pleasure calls, And shows the marbles, tops, and balls. What’s learning to the charms of play? Th’ indulgent tutor must give way. A heedless wilful dunce, and wild, The parents’ fondness spoil’d the child; The youth in vagrant courses ran. Now, abject, stooping, old, and wan, Their fondling is the beggar man.