What will ye (my poor Orphans) do When I must leave the World (and you) Who'l give ye then a sheltring shed, Or credit ye, when I am dead? Who'l let ye by their fire sit? Although ye have a stock of wit, Already coin'd to pay for it. I cannot tell; unlesse there be Some Race of old humanitie Left (of the large heart, and long hand) Alive, as Noble Westmorland; Or gallant Newark; which brave two May fost'ring fathers be to you. If not; expect to be no less Ill us'd, then Babes left fatherless. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OWL AND THE PUSSY CAT by EDWARD LEAR THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 74. ST. LUKE THE PAINTER (OLD & NEW ART) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI A SONNET. ON THE DEATH OF SYLVIA by PHILIP AYRES MORNING STAR by HARRIET R. BEAN THE TUTELAGE by ROBERT MOWRY BELL HOMESICKNESS by HENRY BELLAMANN |