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Poems (Piatt)/Volume 1/Playing Beggars

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4617703Poems — Playing BeggarsSarah Piatt
PLAYING BEGGARS.
"Let us pretend we are two beggars." "No,For beggars are im——— something, something bad;You know they are, because Papa says so,And Papa when he calls them that looks mad;You should have seen him, how he frowned one day,When Mama gave his wedding-coat away."
"Well, now he can't get married any more,Because he has no wedding-coat to wear.But that poor ragged soldier at the doorWas starved to death in prison once somewhere,And shot dead somewhere else, and it was rightTo give him coats—because he had to fight.
"Now let's be beggars." "They're im—postors. Yes,That 's what they are, im—postors; and that meansRich people, for they all are rich, I guess—Richer than we are, rich as Jews or queens,And they're just playing beggars when they cry———""Then let us play like they do, you and I."
"Well, we 'll be rich and wear old naughty clothes.""But they're not rich. If they were rich they'd buyAll the fine horses at the fairs and showsTo give to General Grant. I'll tell you why:Once when the rebels wanted to kill allThe men in this worldhe let Richmond fall!
"That broke them up! I like the rebels, though,Because they have the curliest kind of hair.One time, so many years and years ago,I saw one over in Kentucky there.It showed me such a shabby sword, and saidIt wanted to cut off—Somebody's head!
"But—do play beggar. You be one; and, mind,Shut up one eye, and get all over dust,And say this: +>'Lady, be so very kindAs to give me some water. Well, I mustRest on your step, I think, ma'am, for a while——I've walked full twenty if I've walked one mile.
"'Lady, this is your little girl, I know:She is a beautiful child—and just like you; You look too young to be her mother, though.This handsome boy is like his father, too:The gentleman was he who passed this wayAnd looked so cross?—so pleasant, I should say!
"'But trouble, Lady, trouble puts me wrong.Lady, I'm sure you'll spare a dress or two—You look so stylish. (O, if I was strong!)And shoes? Yours are too small. I need them new.The money———thank you! Now you have some tea,And flour, and sugar, you'll not miss, for me?
"'Ah, I forgot to tell you that my houseWas burned last night. My baby has no bread,And I'm as poor, ma'am, as a cellar-mouse.My husband died once; my grandmother's dead—She was a good soul (but she 's gone, that 's true——You have some coffee, madam?)—so are you.'"
"Oh, it's too long. I can't say half of that!I'll not be an im—postor, any how.(But I should like to give one my torn hat,So I could get a prettier one, just now.)They re worse than Christians, ghosts, or—anything.———I'll play that I'm a great man or a king."
  1866.