Mamma heard me with scorn and pride br A wretched beggar-boy deride. br 'Do you not know,' said I, 'how mean br It is to be thus begging seen? br If for a week I were not fed, br I'm sure I would not beg my bread.' br And then away she saw me stalk br With a most self-important walk. br But meeting her upon the stairs, br All these my consequential airs br Were changed to an entreating look. br 'Give me,' said I, 'the pocket-book, br Mamma, you promised I should have.' br The pocket-book to me she gave; br After reproof and counsel sage br She bade me write in the first page br This naughty action all in rhyme; br No food to have until the time, br In writing fair and neatly worded, br The unfeeling fact I had recorded. br Slow I compose, and slow I write; br And now I feel keen hunger bite. br My mother's pardon I entreat, br And beg she'll give me food to eat. br Dry bread would be received with joy br By her repentant beggar-boy.