Lyrical Ballads with Other Poems, 1800, Volume 2: Andrew Jones

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 chanc'd that Andrew pass'd that way
  Just at the 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 stopp'd 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 train'd to waste and pillage;
  And wish'd the press-gang, or the drum
  With its tantara sound, would come
  And sweep him from the village!

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