A deadly foe

O Winter what a deadly foe 
Art thou unto the mean & low 
What thousands now half-pind & bare 
Are forcd to stand thy piercing air 
All day neer numb'd to death wi' cold 
Some petty Gentry to uphold 
Paltry proudlings hard as thee 
Dead to all humanity
O the weathers cold & snow 
Cutting winds that round me blow 
But much more the killing scorn 
O the day that I was born 
Friendless — poor as I can be 
Struck wi' death o' poverty

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