A Selection from the Lyrical Poems of Robert Herrick

8. TO HIS VERSES

     What will ye, my poor orphans, do,
     When I must leave the world and you;
     Who'll give ye then a sheltering shed,
     Or credit ye, when I am dead?
     Who'll let ye by their fire sit,
     Although ye have a stock of wit,
     Already coin'd to pay for it?
     —I cannot tell:  unless there be
     Some race of old humanity
     Left, of the large heart and long hand,
     Alive, as noble Westmorland;
     Or gallant Newark; which brave two
     May fost'ring fathers be to you.
     If not, expect to be no less
     Ill used, than babes left fatherless.