Page:The heptalogia, or, The seven against sense - a cap with seven bells (IA heptalogiaorseve00swin).pdf/46

 I rose with dawn, to pawn, no doubt, (Miss this chance, glance untried aside?) John's shirt, my—no! Ay, so—the lout! Let yet the door gape, store on floor And not a soul about?

Such men lay traps, perhaps—and I'm Weak—meek—mild—child of woe, you know! But theft, I doubt, my lout calls crime. Shrink? Think! Love's dawn in pawn—you spawn Of Jewry! Just in time!