Book II, 29: On Beggers

No wonder that such swarmes of Beggers lurke
In every street: 'Tis a worse trade to worke
Then begge: Yet some, if they can make but shift
To live, will thinke it scorne to thrive by gift;
'Tis a brave mind; but yet no wise forecast;
It is but Pride, and Pride will stoope at last;
We all are Beggers; should be so, at least;
Alas! we cannot worke: The very best
Our hands can doe, will not maintaine to live;
We can but hold them up, whilst others give:
No shame for helples Man, to pray in aid;
Great Sol'mon scornd not to be free o'th' Trade;
He begg'd an Almes and blusht not; For the Boone
He got, was trble fairer then his Crowne:
No wonder that he thriv'd by begging, so;
He was both Begger and a Chuser too:
O who would trust to Worke, that may obtaine
The Suit he beggs, without or sweat, or paine!
O what a priviledge, Great God, have we,
That have the Honour, but to begge on thee!
Thou dost not right us with the tort'ring Whips
Of Bedels; nor dost answere our faint lips
With churlish language; Lord, thou dost not praise
The stricter Statute of last Henries dayes:
Thou dost not dampe us with the empty voyce
Of Nothing for yee: If our clam'rous noyse
Should chance t'importune, turn'st thy gracious eye
Vpon our wants, and mak'st a quick supply:
Thou dost not brand us with th'opprobrious name
Of idle vagabonds: Thou know'st w'are lame,
And canot worke; Thou dost not, Pharo-like,
Deny us Straw, and yet requier Brick:
Thou canst not heare us grone beneath our Taske,
But freely giv'st, what we have Faith to aske:
The most, for which my large desire shall plead,
To serve the present's but a Loafe of Bread,
Or but a Token (ev'n as Beggers use;)
That, of thy love, will fill my slender Cruse:
Lord, during life, Ile begge no greater Boone,
If at my Death, thou'lt give me but a Crowne.