Never so bare and naked was church-stone
As is my clean-stripped doublet in my grasp:
Also I wear a shirt without a clasp,
Which is a dismal thing to look upon.
Ah! had I still but the sweet coins I won
That time I sold my nag and staked the pay,
I'd not lie hid beneath the roof to-day
And eke out sonnets with this moping moan.
Daily a thousand times stark mad am I
At my dad's meanness who won't clothe me now,
For " How about the horse?" is still his cry.
Till one thing strikes me as clear anyhow —
No rag I'll get. The wretch has sworn, I see,
Not to invest another doit in me.
And all because of the fine doublet's price
He gave me, when I vowed to throw no dice,
And for his damned nag's sake! Well, this is nice!