Ah, woe is me, my mother dear!
A man of strife ye’ve born me:
For saircontention I maunbear;
They hate, revile, and scorn me.
I ne’er could lend on billorband,
That five per cent. might blest me;
And borrowing, on the titherhand,
The deila anewadtrust me.
Yet I, a coin-denied wight,
By Fortune quite discarded;
Ye see how I am, day and night,
Bylad and lass blackguarded!