I hate that Andrew Jones; he'll breed
His children up to waste and pillage.
I wish the press-gang or the drum
With its tantara sound would come,
And sweep him from the village!
I said not this, because he loves
Through the long day to swear and tipple;
But for the poor dear sake of one
To whom a foul deed he had done,
A friendless man, a travelling cripple!
For this poor crawling helpless wretch,
Some horseman who was passing by,
A penny on the ground had thrown;
But the poor cripple was alone
And could not stoop--no help was nigh.
Inch-thick the dust lay on the ground
For it had long been droughty weather;
So with his staff the cripple wrought
Among the dust till he had brought
The half-pennies together.
It chanced that Andrew passed that way
Just at the time; and there he found
The cripple in the mid-day heat
Standing alone, and at his feet
He saw the penny on the ground.
He stopped and took the penny up:
And when the cripple nearer drew,
Quoth Andrew, "Under half-a-crown,
What a man finds is all his own,
And so, my Friend, good-day to you."
And 'hence' I said, that Andrew's boys
Will all be trained to waste and pillage;
And wished the press-gang, or the drum
With its tantara sound, would come
And sweep him from the village.
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More Poems by William Wordsworth
• A Character
• A Night Piece
• A Whirl Blast from Behind the Hill
• Andrew Jones
• Anecdote For Fathers
• Animal Tranquillity and Decay
• Calm is all Nature as a Resting Wheel
• Ellen Irwin
• Expostulation and Reply
• I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud
• Influence of Natural Objects
• It was an April Morning: fresh and clear
• Lines Left upon a Seat in a Yew-tree
• Lines Written In Early Spring
• Lucy Gray
• Nutting
• Ode, Composed On A May Morning
• Remembrance of Collins
• Rural Architecture
• She Dwelt Among Untrodden Ways
• She Was a Phantom of Delight
• Passion Have I Known
• Surprised By Joy
• The Birth of Love
• The Childless Father
• The Forsaken
• The Green Linnet
• The Mother's Return
• The Pet Lamb: A Pastoral
• The Rainbow
• The Reverie of Poor Susan
• She Grew In Sun
• The Solitary Reaper
• The World Is To Much With Us; Late And Soon
• We Are Seven
• With Ships the Sea was Sprinkled Far and Nigh
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William Wordsworth Andrew Jones - Poem Lyrics - William Wordsworth - Andrew Jones
