The Beggar and Poet

HAppy the Man who free from Care and Strife,
With Dog and Bell gropes thro' the Road of Life!
Beggar at large, without o Fear, or Shame,
He'll all the World his Benefactors name.
He, like the famous ancient Scythian Race,
Shifts not himself as often as his place.
Tir'd with the pillage of one fruitful Plain,
He and his Cattle soon decamp again:
He with a proud Repulse when warmly vext,
Throws you a hearty Curse, and tries the next.
No long Harangues to squeeze the stubborn Pence,
No Oratorical Impertinence,
Nor grateful murd'ring both of Truth and Sense.
He'll in two Lines compendiously impart
The System of his truly Liberal Art;
Pray Sir, the Gift: And when the Farthings stir,
I hope you 'll never live to want it Sir!
When Beadle Death does him at last attend,
Let him go where he will, in this he's sure to mend:
Death kindly Land and House provides him, more
Besides the Cage, than e're he had before.
Thrice miserable they whom want and Fate
Eternal Mumpers made at Learning's Gate:
Their Souls indeed they cram with notions high,
But let poor Colon live by Sympathy:
To Honourable Beggars they give place,
Lean younger Brothers of the lowsie Race.