,
The poor around all know it well;
Seldom will ope a gaudy door,
To give a penny to the poor:
Yet glad would do it any day,
To turn the applicant away;
Or else to prison send the man,
And gladly punish all they can.
All fain would be a Demi God,
To hold the sharp chastising rod;
Esteem'd by few, by none revered,
And by the poor man greatly feared;
No longer I'll this theme pursue,
But bid the haughty Sirs, adieu.
A good divine shall be my theme,
The villiage did him much esteem;
A poor distress'd Italian youth,
Whose features bore the marks of truth;
Call'd at the parson's door to say,
The night was dark he'd lost his way;
The good divine observed the lad
Was sorrowful and thinly clad,
"Step in" says he and shut the door,
"Sometimes I feed the needy poor.
Your outward guarb bespeaks distress,
This night I'll make your troubles less."
The youth with gratitude replied,
To earn my living is my pride;
Pictures I sell and glasses too,
Much cheaper then you'll find a jew;
And soon most pleasing to his eye,
Was ushered a good mutton pie;
And further to afford relief,
Beside the pye a piece of beef;
And likewise quick his heart to cheer,
Between the two a pint of beer.
All night he staid the morning came,
The Parson asked the boy his name;
My name is luckless he replies,
Tears were streaming from his eyes;
Pray do you like this wandering life,
No says the lad it causeth strife.
A joiners business sir I crave,
From selling pictures could I save
Enough, I'd soon a master find,
And to him myself I'd bind.
The Parson soon a master found,
Cloathed the youth and gave ten pound.
He served his time so well 'tis said,
As soon his charity repaid.
He gained a living by his trade,
The Parson gave without parade.
And at the Reverend's death 'twas found,
He left his boy five hundred pound,
He call'd the boy tho' grown a man,
Excel this action if you can.

[Picture: Decorative divider]

Printed by R. Walker, Norwich.

A Description of the Pine-apple at Trowse.

Both beauty and art have exerted their skill,
You will find on a spot near the brow of a hill;
The hill is near Norwich and call'd Bracondale,
I stept into Vince's myself to regale.
The landlord I found Sir adopted one plan,