No money doles now patrons give,
You're fed but never feed;
Yet still you try in town to live,
And somehow you succeed.

Your coat is passing vile, 'tis true;
You rent a dingy den:
For these and for your pleasures too
You sponge on other men.

" My costs of living," so you say,
" Are reasonably small."
If reason be in question, pray,
Why should you live at all?