What will ye, my poor orphans, do, br When I must leave the world and you; br Who'll give ye then a sheltering shed, br Or credit ye, when I am dead? br Who'll let ye by their fire sit, br Although ye have a stock of wit, br Already coin'd to pay for it? br --I cannot tell: unless there be br Some race of old humanity br Left, of the large heart and long hand, br Alive, as noble Westmorland; br Or gallant Newark; which brave two br May fost'ring fathers be to you. br If not, expect to be no less br Ill used, than babes left fatherless.