The Tramp


He eats (a moments stoppage to his song) 

The stolen turnip as he goes along
& hops along & heeds with careless eye 
The passing crowded stage coach reeling bye
He talks to none but wends his silent way
& finds a hovel at the close of day
Or under any hedge his house is made
He has no calling & he owns no trade
An old smoaked blanket arches oer his head
A whisp of straw or stubble makes his bed
He knows a lawless law that claims no kin 
But meet & plunder on & feel no sin— 
No matter where they go or where they dwell 
They dally with the winds & laugh at hell

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