One day a youth full of conceit,
With witty tramp he chanced to meet,
As he was taking walk abroad
So leisurely along the road.
The tramp well knew the stylish gent
Wouid have hard work to raise a cent,
But a sad tale the tramp did tell
Of sorrows that had him befell.
While on the road he thus did stand
And humbly held his hat in hand;
Great eloquence he did employ,
He said he was poor orphan boy.
From labor he would never shirk,
But would be happy to get work,
For his family the bread winner,
But none of them had their dinner.
And some whole days would go past
Wherein they never broke their fast,
So pray now give me some relief
And help for to assuage my grief.
Said swell, “I never take a load
Of money with me when abroad,
For to dispense to tramps on street,
When I by chance with them do meet.
This speech for moment did not damp
The ardor of the witty tramp;
Said he, “Give me your card to call,
And visit your manorial hall.”