Book 2 — PITY[93:1]
Reading edition
PITY[93:1]
Sweet Mercy! how my very heart has bled To see thee, poor Old Man! and thy grey hairs Hoar with the snowy blast: while no one cares To clothe thy shrivell'd limbs and palsied head. My Father! throw away this tatter'd vest 5 That mocks thy shivering! take my garment—use A young man's arm! I'll melt these frozen dews That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast. My Sara too shall tend thee, like a child: And thou shalt talk, in our fireside's recess, 10 Of purple Pride, that scowls on Wretchedness— He did not so, the Galilaean mild, Who met the Lazars turn'd from rich men's doors And call'd them Friends, and heal'd their noisome sores!
? 1795.
FOOTNOTES:
LINENOTES:
Title] Effusion xvi. 1796 (Contents—To an Old Man): Sonnet vi. 1797: Sonnet v. 1803: Sonnet x. 1828, 1829, 1834: Charity 1893.
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7
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arm] arms 1796, 1828.
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12-14
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He did not scowl, the Galilaean mild, Who met the Lazar turn'd from rich man's doors, And call'd him Friend, and wept upon his sores.
1797, 1803.
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13
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men's] man's 1796, Selection of Sonnets, 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829.