Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 2.djvu/132

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that Andrew Jones: he'll breed

His children up to waste and pillage:

I wish the press-gang, or the drum

Would, with its rattling music, come—

And sweep him from the village.

I said not this, because he loves

Through the long day to swear and tipple;

But for the poor dear sake of one

To whom a foul deed he had done,

A friendless man, a travelling Cripple.

For this poor crawling helpless wretch

Some Horseman, who was passing by,

A penny on the ground had thrown;

But the poor Cripple was alone,

And could not stoop—no help was nigh.