Mamma heard me with scorn and pride <br />A wretched beggar-boy deride. <br />'Do you not know,' said I, 'how mean <br />It is to be thus begging seen? <br />If for a week I were not fed, <br />I'm sure I would not beg my bread.' <br />And then away she saw me stalk <br />With a most self-important walk. <br />But meeting her upon the stairs, <br />All these my consequential airs <br />Were changed to an entreating look. <br />'Give me,' said I, 'the pocket-book, <br />Mamma, you promised I should have.' <br />The pocket-book to me she gave; <br />After reproof and counsel sage <br />She bade me write in the first page <br />This naughty action all in rhyme; <br />No food to have until the time, <br />In writing fair and neatly worded, <br />The unfeeling fact I had recorded. <br />Slow I compose, and slow I write; <br />And now I feel keen hunger bite. <br />My mother's pardon I entreat, <br />And beg she'll give me food to eat. <br />Dry bread would be received with joy <br />By her repentant beggar-boy.<br /><br />Charles Lamb<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-reproof/
