The Complaints of the Poor
Robert Southey
1774 to 1843
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And wherefore do the Poor complain?
The rich man of me,—
Come walk abroad with me, I
And I will answer thee.
Twas evening and the streets
Were cheerless to behold,
And we were wrapt coated well,
And yet we were a-cold.
We met old bare-headed man,
His locks were few and white,
ask'd him what he did abroad
In that cold winter's night:
'Twas bitter keen indeed, he said,
But at no fire had he,
And therefore, he had come
To ask for charity.
We met a young bare-footed child,
And she begg'd loud and bold,
I ask'd her she did abroad
When the wind it blew so cold;
She said her father was at home
And he sick a-bed,
And therefore was it she was sent
to beg for bread.
We saw a woman sitting
Upon a stone to rest,
She had a baby her back
And another at her breast;
I ask'd why she loiter'd there
When the wind it was chill;
She turn'd her head and bade the child
scream'd behind be still.
She told us that her served
A soldier, far away,
And therefore to her she
Was begging back her way.
We met a girl; her dress was loose
And sunken was her eye,
with the wanton's hollow voice
Address'd the passers by;
ask'd her what there was in guilt
That could heart allure
To shame, disease, and late remorse?
She answer'd, she was poor.
I turn'd me to the rich then
For silently stood he,
You ask'd me why Poor complain,
And these have answer'd thee.