Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, BEGGARS, by FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

BEGGARS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: I am pacing the mall in a rapt reverie
Last Line: That begging is only their 'muscular motion.'
Alternate Author Name(s): Locker, Frederick
Subject(s): Begging & Beggars


They eat, and drink, and scheme, and plod, --
They go to church on Sunday;
And many are afraid of God --
And more of Mrs. Grundy.

I am pacing the Mall in a rapt reverie,
I am thinking if Sophy is thinking of me,
When I'm roused by a ragged and shivering wretch,
Who seems to be well on his way to Jack Ketch.

He has got a bad face, and a shocking bad hat;
A comb in his fist, and he sees I'm a flat,
For he says, 'Buy a comb, it's a fine un to wear;
On'y try it, my Lord, through your whiskers and 'air.'

He eyes my gold chain, as if greedy to crib it;
He looks just as if he'd been blown from a gibbet.
I pause . . .! I pass on, and beside the club fire
I settle that Sophy is all I desire.

As I stroll from the club, and am deep in a strophe
That rolls upon all that's delightful in Sophy,
I'm humbly addressed by an 'object' unnerving,
So tatter'd a wretch must be 'highly deserving.'

She begs, -- I am touch'd, but I've great circumspection;
I stifle remorse with the soothing reflection
That cases of vice are by no means a rarity --
The worst vice of all's indiscriminate charity.

Am I right? How I wish that my clerical guide
Would settle this question -- and others beside.
For always one's heart to be hardening thus,
If wholesome for Beggars, is hurtful for us.

A few minutes later I'm happy and free
To sip Its own Sophykins' five-o'clock tea:
Her table is loaded, for when a girl marries,
What bushels of rubbish they send her from Barry's!

'There's a present for you, Sir!' Yes, thanks to her thrift,
My Pet has been able to buy me a gift;
And she slips in my hand, the delightfully sly Thing,
A paper-weight form'd of a bronze lizard writhing.

'What a charming cadeau! and so truthfully moulded;
But perhaps you don't know, or deserve to be scolded,
That in casting this metal a live, harmless lizard
Was cruelly tortured in ghost and in gizzard?'

'Po-oh!' -- says my Lady (she always says 'Pooh'
When she's wilful, and does what she oughtn't to do!)
'Hopgarten protests they've no feeling, and so
It was only their muscular movement you know!'

Thinks I (when I've said au revoir, and depart --
A Comb in my pocket, a Weight -- at my heart),
And when wretched Mendicants writhe, there's a notion
That begging is only their 'muscular motion.'





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