Humane as they would seem, not always show. Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat, Such claim compassion in a night like this, And have a friend in every feeling heart. Warmed while it lasts, by labour, all day long They brave the season, and yet find at eve, Ill clad and fed but sparely, time to cool. The frugal housewife trembles when she lights Her scanty stock of brushwood, blazing clear, But dying soon, like all terrestrial joys; The few small embers left she nurses well. And while her infant race with outspread hands And crowded knees sit cowering o’er the sparks, Retires, content to quake, so they be warmed. The man feels least, as more inured than she To winter, and the current in his veins More briskly moved by his severer toil; Yet he, too, finds his own distress in theirs. The taper soon extinguished, which I saw Dangled along at the cold finger’s end Just when the day declined, and the brown loaf Lodged on the shelf, half-eaten, without sauce Of sav’ry cheese, or butter costlier still, Sleep seems their only refuge. For alas, Where penury is felt the thought is chained, And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few. With all this thrift they thrive not. All the care Ingenious parsimony takes, but just Saves the small inventory, bed and stool, Skillet and old carved chest, from public sale. They live, and live without extorted alms From grudging hands, but other boast have none To soothe their honest pride that scorns to beg, Nor comfort else, but in their mutual love. I praise you much, ye meek and patient pair, For ye are worthy; choosing rather far A dry but independent crust, hard-earned And eaten with a sigh, than to endure The rugged frowns and insolent rebuffs Of knaves in office, partial in their work Of distribution; liberal of their aid To clamorous importunity in rags, But ofttimes deaf to suppliants who would blush To wear a tattered garb however coarse, Whom famine cannot reconcile to filth; These ask with painful shyness, and, refused Because deserving, silently retire. But be ye of good courage! Time itself Shall much befriend you. Time shall give increase, And all your numerous progeny, well trained, But helpless, in few years shall find their hands, And labour too. Meanwhile ye shall not want What, conscious of your virtues, we can spare, Nor what a wealthier than ourselves may send. I mean the man, who when the distant poor Need help, denies them nothing but his name.