Then night. Then day: and blithesome chanticleer

Then night. Then day: and blithesome chanticleer Imposed his matin on the sleepers’ ear. As forth resplendent Sol inflames the sky In wakeful mood the village freemen hie,— Some with the scythe inflict the sun-brown’d blade, Whilst some, unworthy, ’sue their idle trade; But those upholders of th’ industrial arm Shall be at peace when idlers feel alarm: The first, their features tell the healthiest tale, While they, the last, are dirty, thin, and pale: Along the lanes the perfumes as they rise The former greet, the latter would despise. Go! slothful saunt’rer on the road of life And earn thy bread—return unto thy wife, (It may be children, too, thou hast at home— If home thou hast—who wait their usual doom,) With smiling countenance; and doff the cry Offensive t’th’ear, and spurn such charity, And leave the generous alms to sick and poor— Whose age or frailty, man! deserves them more.

Vagrant beggars.