Tis not enough that poverty
Should place me 'neath your station,
So you can look below and see
My humbly clad condition.
You were not sated with the thought
That you are far superior;
But cruelly and basely sought
To make me feel inferior.
And told to all the city through
The unkind trick you played me.
I thought you friend, I took as true
The words which so betray me.
You smile and sneer and laugh with scorn
And cunningly decry me,
And closely scan my clothes so worn
Whenever you pass by me.
