Reader, your soul upraise to see, In yon fair cut designed by me, The pauper by the highwayside Vainly soliciting from pride. Mark how the Beau with easy air Contemns the anxious rustic’s prayer, And casting a disdainful eye, Goes gaily gallivanting by. He from the poor averts his head. … He will regret it when he’s dead.
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Reader, Your Soul Upraise to See
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