Shall I a daily Begger be, For loves sake asking almes of thee? Still shall I crave, and never get A hope of my desired bit? Ah cruell maides! Ile goe my way, Whereas (perchance) my fortunes may Finde out a Threshold or a doore, That may far sooner speed the poore: Where thrice we knock, and none will heare, Cold comfort still I'm sure lives there. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHAMBER MUSIC: 11 by JAMES JOYCE NIGHT AND DAY: 2 by ISAAC ROSENBERG LEARNING TO READ by FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER DRINKING SONG, FR. THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL by RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN THE SOUL'S DEFIANCE by LAVINIA STONE STODDARD NIOBE: THE GODS' CHILDREN by AESCHYLUS SOLUTION OF THE CHARADE IN THE MUSEUM FOR OCTOBER by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |