The Beggar.

Shall I a daily beggar be,
For love's sake asking alms of thee?
Still shall I crave, and never get
A hope of my desired bit?
Ah, cruel maids! I'll go my way,
Whereas, perchance, my fortunes may
Find out a threshold or a door
That may far sooner speed the poor:
Where thrice we knock, and none will hear,
Cold comfort still I'm sure lives there.

Robert Herrick

Robert Herrick was a 17th-century English lyric poet and cleric. He is known for his book of poems, "Hesperides," which includes the carpe diem poem "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time." His works are noted for their clarity, simplicity, and musical quality. Herrick was also a vicar of Dean Prior in Devon, despite being ejected during the English Civil War and later reinstated.

Robert Herrick

To Love.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Good And Bad.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

Barley-Break; Or, Last In Hell

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

To His Book.

Robert Herrick, Simple Poetry

English

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The Beggar To Mab, The Queen Fairy

Please your Grace, from out your store
Give an alms to one that's poor,
That your mickle may have more.
Black I'm grown for want of meat,
Give me then an ant to eat,
Or the cleft ear of a mouse
Over-sour'd in drink of source;
Or, sweet lady, reach to me
The abdomen of a bee;
Or commend a cricket's hip,
Or his huckson, to my scrip;
Give for bread, a little bit
Of a pease that 'gins to chit,
And my full thanks take for it.
Flour of fuz-balls, that's too good
For a man in needy-hood;
But the meal of mill-dust can
Well content a craving man;
Any orts the elves refuse
Well will serve the beggar's use.
But if this may seem too much
For an alms, then give me such
Little bits that nestle there
In the pris'ner's pannier.
So a ble...

Robert Herrick

Beggars.

Jacob God's beggar was; and so we wait,
Though ne'er so rich, all beggars at His gate.

Robert Herrick

His Petition.

If war or want shall make me grow so poor,
As for to beg my bread from door to door;
Lord! let me never act that beggar's part,
Who hath Thee in his mouth, not in his heart:
He who asks alms in that so sacred Name,
Without due reverence, plays the cheater's game.

Robert Herrick

His Alms.

Here, here I live,
And somewhat give
Of what I have
To those who crave,
Little or much,
My alms is such;
But if my deal
Of oil and meal
Shall fuller grow,
More I'll bestow;
Meantime be it
E'en but a bit,
Or else a crumb,
The scrip hath some.

Robert Herrick

Sonnet. The Beggar.

Of late I saw him on his staff reclined,
Bow'd down beneath a weary weight of woes,
Without a roof to shelter from the wind
His head, all hoar with many a winter's snows.
All trembling he approach'd, he strove to speak;
The voice of misery scarce my ear assail'd;
A flood of sorrow swept his furrow'd cheek,
Remembrance check'd him, and his utt'rance fail'd.
For he had known full many a better day;
And when the poor man at his threshold bent,
He drove him not with aching heart away,
But freely shared what Providence had sent.
How hard for him, the stranger's boon to crave,
And live to want the mite his bounty gave!

Thomas Gent

Beggar To Beggar Cried

Time to put off the world and go somewhere
And find my health again in the sea air,
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
And make my soul before my pate is bare.

And get a comfortable wife and house
To rid me of the devil in my shoes,
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
And the worse devil that is between my thighs.

And though Id marry with a comely lass,
She need not be too comely, let it pass,
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
But theres a devil in a looking-glass.

Nor should she be too rich, because the rich
Are driven by wealth as beggars by the itch,
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
And cannot have a humorous happy speech.

And there Ill grow respected at my ease,
And ...

William Butler Yeats