How then in all of heaven and earth
have I arrived to such dismal circumstance as this,
without home or hearth or pillow upon which to lay my head?
’T’would be better were I to be found smashed by road’s side
impacted by some careless Wagoner, than gifted as I am
with empty pocket, hopelessness and forgotten dreams.
Better I should be severed from mortal consciousness, be rendered dead,
than looked upon with such disdain as now I see in thy pitying eyes.

A coin, kind noble sir, a coin would raise my lot in life from cold despair
to hope under sapphire sky and smiling sun.
A gesture such as I suggest would not endanger thy own life or that of kith and kin
but rather would prolong my time in this miserable plane
and dampen the primeval growl my belly doth emit for lack of bread or wine.
Yet as I beg, I loathe, despise who stands before you hand outstretched
unkempt, unbathed, unshaven and enfranchised to no one,
standing in contrast to who I could have been were fate a kinder wench.

A coin, kind sir?