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Of that great wealth they once possessed.

But know thou, even more distressed

Are they the oftener they return

New store of bitter woe to earn,

Till that they shun my gaze for shame

And, taking on their heads the blame,

Cast off their lives of misery.

I flee from those who flee from me.

I warn you well, ere yet you pass

This barrier, you will cry, alas!

When you return, for never Bear,

Hand-led, and muzzle doomed to wear,

Was wretcheder than you will be

At going hence. If Poverty

Cast you on bed of hay or straw,

You there mid sighs and groans must draw

Your breath till you of hunger die.

Hunger, who unto Poverty

Was chamberer, by her bitterness

Reduced her dame to dire distress,

And then corrupted her, till she

Became the nurse of Knavery;

From her own breast with milk she fed;

The varlet, who no other bread

E’er tasted. And if ye desire

To hear of her, this caitiff dire,

Fierce Hunger, dwells on stone-strewn ground,

Where nought of herb or grain is found,

A land which north of Scotland lies,

Whose frozen atmosphere outvies

The marble’s coldness. Hunger, who

Wones where no tree or grain e’er grew.