Of wretched lepers nothing good can come
Of transmission from such slum and gutter dwellers
But only with the rich and victual sellers
He kept his tippet stuffed with pins for curls
And pocket knives to give to pretty girls
Certainly his voice was clear and sturdy
At sing-songs he was a champion of the hour
His neck was whiter than a lily flower
But strong though to bust a bruiser down
He knew the taverns well in every town
And every innkeeper and barmaid too
Better than lepers, beggars and that crew
For in so eminent a man as he
It was not fitting with the dignity
Of his position dealing with the scum
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem