III

Poor vagabond, so old and mild, Will they not keep him for a night? And She, a woman great with child, So frail and pitiful and white.

Good people, since the tavern door Is shut to you, come here instead. See, I have cleansed my stable floor And piled fresh hay to make a bed.

Here is some milk and oaten cake. Lie down and sleep and rest you fair, Nor fear, O simple folk, to take The bounty of a child of care.