cxcii LIFE OF 



Tis in this sense that I am poor, 



And I'm afraid shall be so still, 

 Obstrep'rous creditors besiege my door, 



And mv whole house clamorous echoes fill : 

 From these there can be no retirement free, 

 From room to room, they hunt, and follow me ; 

 They will not let me eat, nor sleep, nor pray, 



But persecute me night and day ; 



Torment my body, and my mind, 



Nay if 1 take my heels and fly, 



They follow me with open cry, 



At home no rest, abroad no refuge can I find. 



Thou worst of ills ! what have I done 



That heaven should punish me with thee 1 

 From insolence, fraud, and oppression, 

 I ever have been innocent and free. 



Thou wert intended (Poverty) 

 A scourge for pride and avarice, 

 I ne'er was tainted yet with either vice ; 



I never in prosperity, 

 Nor in the height of all my happiness, 

 Scorn'd, or neglected any in distress, 

 My hand, my heart, my door 

 Were ever open to the poor ; 

 And I to others in their need have granted, 



Ere they could ask, the thing they wanted, 

 Whereas I now, although I humbly crave it, 

 Do only beg for peace, and cannot have it. 



Give me but that, ye bloody persecutors 

 (Who formerly have been my suitors), 

 And I'll surrender a'l the rest 

 For which you so contest, 

 For heaven's sake, let me but be quiet, 

 I'll not repine at clothes, nor diet, 

 Any habit ne'er so mean 

 Let it be but whole and clean, 

 Such as nakedness will hide, 

 Will amply satisfy my pride ; 



And for meat 



Husks and acorns will I eat, 

 And for better never wish ; 

 But when you will me better treat, 



A turnip is a princely dish : 

 Since then I thus far am subdu'd, 



And so humbly do submit, 

 Faith, be no more so monstrous rude, 



But some repose at least permit ; 

 Sleep is to life and human 'nature due, 

 And that, alas, is all for which I humbly sue." 



The complaint of having been deserted by his friends as well 

 as by those whom he had served, also occurs in other places ; 

 and in one of his Eclogues he says, 



"CLOTTEN. The want of wealth I reckon not distress, 

 But of enough to do good offices ; 

 Which growing less, those friends will fall away ; 

 Poverty is the ground of all decay ; 

 With our prosperities our friendships end, 

 And to misfortune no one is a friend, 

 Which I already find to that degree, 

 That my old friends are now afraid of me, 



