Alas! of all the noxious things
That wait upon the poor,
Most cruel is that Felon-Fear
That haunts the “Debtor’s Door!”
Saint Sepulchre’s begins to toll,
The Sheriffs seek the cell—
So I expect their officers,
And tremble at the bell!
I look for beer, and yet I quake
With fright at every tap;
And dread a double-knock, for oh!
I’ve not a single rap!