The Beades-Man

I Thank you for your Rhymes; there cannot be
A surer voucher of your Poverty.
Verse shews a swelling mind, but a lank Purse;
This makes me answer you again in Verse.
But to the purpose, Sir; alas! my fate
Fits me to pity, not to help your State.
And pity, without help, is just as good
As much-good-doe-you, when a Man wants Food.
God-help-you will not doe; 'tis of no force;
Prayers can do much; these are but Words of course;
A civil no: a skillful Beggar swore
That godly-talkers seldom help the Poor.
Alas! I cannot help it, I use wit
Sometimes like you, to bribe a benefit.
So that to beg of me is but to call
For Alms, at th' door of some poor Hospital:
I'm but a Beads-man, of the better note;
Like them in every thing, but Beard and Coat.