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Robert Southey - The Complaints Of The Poor
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And wherefore do the Poor complain?
    The rich man asked of me,--
  Come walk abroad with me, I said
   And I will answer thee.

  Twas evening and the frozen streets
    Were cheerless to behold,
  And we were wrapt and coated well,
    And yet we were a-cold.

  We met an old bare-headed man,
    His locks were few and white,
  I ask`d him what he did abroad
    In that cold winter`s night:

  `Twas bitter keen indeed, he said,
    But at home no fire had he,
  And therefore, he had come abroad
    To ask for charity.

  We met a young bare-footed child,
    And she begg`d loud and bold,
  I ask`d her what she did abroad
    When the wind it blew so cold;

  She said her father was at home
    And he lay sick a-bed,
  And therefore was it she was sent
    Abroad to beg for bread.

  We saw a woman sitting down
    Upon a stone to rest,
  She had a baby at her back
    And another at her breast;

  I ask`d her why she loiter`d there
    When the wind it was so chill;
  She turn`d her head and bade the child
    That scream`d behind be still.

  She told us that her husband served
    A soldier, far away,
  And therefore to her parish she
    Was begging back her way.

  We met a girl; her dress was loose
    And sunken was her eye,
  Who with the wanton`s hollow voice
    Address`d the passers by;

  I ask`d her what there was in guilt
    That could her heart allure
  To shame, disease, and late remorse?
    She answer`d, she was poor.

  I turn`d me to the rich man then
    For silently stood he,
  You ask`d me why the Poor complain,
    And these have answer`d thee.
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