Page:The cry for justice - an anthology of the literature of social protest. - (IA cryforjusticea00sinc).pdf/467

 What, but poor little urchins, whose stomachs are craving, and little old beldames in shoals; And lice by the thousand, mosquitoes and flies? (I can't count you the cloud as it rolls!) Which keep humming and buzzing about one, a language denying the respite of sleep, In a strain thus consoling—"Poor starveling, awake, tho to hunger!"—yet up you must leap! Add to this, that you treat us with rags to our backs and a bundle of straw for a bed (Woe betide the poor wretch on whose carcass the bugs of that ravenous pallet have fed!) For a carpet, a rotten old mat—for a pillow, a great stone picked out of the street— And for porridge, or bread, a mere leaf of radish, or stem of a mallow, to eat. The head that remains of some wreck of a pitcher, by way of a seat you provide; For the trough we make use of in kneading, we're driven to shift with a wine barrel's side,— nd this, too, all broken and split:—in a word, your magnificent gifts to conclude, (Ironically) To mankind you indeed are a blessed dispenser of mighty and manifold good! On my word, dame, your fav'rites are happily off, after striving and toiling to save, If at last they are able to levy enough to procure them a cheque to the grave!