By Jove the stranger and the poor are sent,
And what to those we give, to Jove is lent.

By Jove the stranger and the poor are sent,
And what to those we give, to Jove is lent.

Pity the sorrow of a poor old man,
Whose trembling limbs have brought him to your door.

Pity the sorrow of a poor old man,
Whose trembling limbs have brought him to your door.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send;
He gave read more

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send;
He gave to misery (all he had) a tear,
He gain'd from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.

Shut not thy purse-strings always against painted distress.

Shut not thy purse-strings always against painted distress.

A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he read more

A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad
When he put on his clothes.

He believed that he was born, not for himself, but for the whole
world.
[Lat., Nec sibi sed read more

He believed that he was born, not for himself, but for the whole
world.
[Lat., Nec sibi sed toti genitum se credere mundo.]

He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe.

He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe.

It never was our guise
To slight the poor, or aught humane despise.

It never was our guise
To slight the poor, or aught humane despise.

Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.

Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.