Come, Thomas come, your Mother called,
She saw you in the Street,
And of that Beggar, blind and bald
She watch’d you trip the Feet.
His little Dog, with Jaws agape,
An angry Protest raised:
But all too late, his Master’s Shape
The Pavement’s Edge had grazed.
Swift running came Policeman Joe
And, threat’ning, spoke of Jail:
For those who Others overthrow
May deep in Dungeons wail.
[Illustration]