Andrew Jones

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Andrew Jones

“I hate that Andrew Jones: he’ll breed

His children up to waste and pillage.

I wish the press-gang or the drum

With its tantara sound, would come

And sweep him from the village!”

I said not this, because he loves

Through the long day to swear and tipple;

But for the poor dear sake of one

To whom a foul deed he had done,

A friendless Man, a travelling Cripple.

For this poor crawling helpless wretch

Some Horseman who was passing by

A penny on the ground had thrown;

But the poor Cripple was alone,

And could not stoop⁠—no help was nigh.

Inch-thick the dust lay on the ground,

For it had long been droughty weather:

So with his staff the Cripple wrought

Among the dust till he had brought

The halfpennies together.

It chanced that Andrew passed that way

Just at that time; and there he found

The Cripple in the mid-day heat

Standing alone, and at his feet

He saw the penny on the ground.

He stooped and took the penny up:

And when the Cripple nearer drew,

Quoth Andrew, “Under half-a-crown,

What a man finds is all his own,

And so, my friend, good day to you.”

And hence I said, that Andrew’s boys

Will all be trained to waste and pillage;

And wished the press-gang, or the drum

With its tantara sound, would come

And sweep him from the village!