  THE poor man’s sins are glaring; In the face of ghostly warning, He is caught in the fact Of an overt act— Buying greens on Sunday morning. The rich man’s sins are hidden In the pomp of wealth and station; And escape the sight Of the children of light, Who are wise in their generation. The rich man has a kitchen, And cooks to dress his dinner; The poor, who would roast, To the baker’s must post, And thus becomes a sinner. The rich man has a cellar, And a ready butler by him; The poor must steer For his pint of beer, Where the saint can’t choose but spy him. The rich man’s painted windows Hide the concerts of the quality; The poor can but share A crack’d fiddle in the air, Which offends all sound morality. The rich man is invisible In the crowd of his gay society; But the poor man’s delight Is a sore in the sight, And a stench in the nose of piety. Thomas L. Peacock. |
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