A Beggar wandered forth to beg.
(_A soul may dwell in Heaven or Hell._)
At night he groaned aloud, when passed
One bearing stores the King wished last.
“Now give me food, for the dear Christ’s sake,”
(_Or Heaven or Hell—O, choose ye well._)
Moaned he the weak, stretching his hand.
I trow men fear the final strand.
The Steward stopped, and smiled, and bowed.
(_One ward may tell of Heaven or Hell._)
Softly he spoke: “A fitting thing,
To give you food and rob the King!”
The one moved on, the one moved not.
(_A soul may dwell in Heaven or Hell._)
The Steward sold one half the bread.
Next morning the Beggar was dead.
The jester told the King the tale.
(_A soul shall dwell in Heaven or Hell._)
A woman gazing at the King,
Shrieked—to his knees she did not cling.
The King’s sword pushed the Steward on,
(_Who can foretell the depths of Hell?_)
And the King smiled as on the band
Outside a door he laid his hand.