Give a beggar a bed and he'll repay you with a louse.
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He that marries a beggar gets a louse for a tocher.
The Spaewife
OH, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Why chops are guid to brander and nane sae guid to fry.
An’ siller, that ’s sae braw to keep, is brawer still to gi’e.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Hoo a’things come to be whaur we find them when we try,
The lasses in their claes an’ the fishes in the sea.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Why lads are a’ to sell an’lasses a’ to buy;
An’ naebody for dacency but barely twa or three.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
Gin death’s as shure to men as killin’ is to kye,
Why God has filled the yearth sae fu’ o’ tasty things to pree.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
Oh, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I—
The reason o’ the cause an’ the wherefore o’ the why,
Wi’ mony anither riddle brings the tear into my e’e.
It ’s gey an’ easy spierin’, says the beggar-wife to me.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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With A Wish To Repay The Betrayer
It's something to be thumbed up,
With a dump done.
Heart thumping with a lumping.
Heart thumping with a lumping.
It hard to overcome,
A shunning that stuns.
Heart thumping with a lumping.
Heart thumping with a lumping.
With a wish to repay the betrayer!
Gritting teeth with a bit of anger in it.
And a wish to repay the betrayer.
Leaving lips bitten with no anger of it hidden.
And a wish to repay the betrayer.
Feeling overheated with paypack needed.
With a wish to repay the betrayer.
Emotions come with nowhere to run.
With a wish to repay the betrayer.
Oh...my, my!
Heart thumping with a lumping.
Heart thumping with a lumping.
With a wish to repay the betrayer.
It's something to be thumbed up,
With a dump done.
Heart thumping with a lumping.
Heart thumping with a lumping.
With a wish to repay the betrayer.
With a wish to repay the betrayer.
Oh...my, my!
Heart thumping with a lumping.
Heart thumping with a lumping.
With a wish to repay the betrayer.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A beggar will always be a beggar even if they give him the whole world as a gift.
Beggar To Beggar Cried
'TIME to put off the world and go somewhere
And find my health again in the sea air,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'And make my soul before my pate is bare.-
'And get a comfortable wife and house
To rid me of the devil in my shoes,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'And the worse devil that is between my thighs.'
And though I'd marry with a comely lass,
She need not be too comely -- let it pass,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'But there's a devil in a looking-glass.'
'Nor should she be too rich, because the rich
Are driven by wealth as beggars by the itch,'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'And cannot have a humorous happy speech.'
'And there I'll grow respected at my ease,
And hear amid the garden's nightly peace.'
Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,
'The wind-blown clamour of the barnacle-geese.'
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Just as the only reservoir for the typhus virus in nature is provided by man, so the only vector of infection is the louse. The bite of the louse is not virulent immediately after the infecting meal. It becomes so only towards the 7th day following infection.
quote by Charles Jules Henry Nicole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spring Cleaning
You said you had
been; deceived by a man.
A man who you said
had; said he would not.
I fear he was no man
not even a mouse
but a deceitful louse.
Time to wash him
out of your hair
more importantly
out of your heart.
Time to wash that louse
clean out of your house.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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O would some power the gift to give us to see ourselves as others see us.
Robert Burns in To a Louse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Twins, The
``Give'' and ``It-shall-be-given-unto-you.''
I.
Grand rough old Martin Luther
Bloomed fables---flowers on furze,
The better the uncouther:
Do roses stick like burrs?
II.
A beggar asked an alms
One day at an abbey-door,
Said Luther; but, seized with qualms,
The abbot replied, ``We're poor!
III.
``Poor, who had plenty once,
``When gifts fell thick as rain:
``But they give us nought, for the nonce,
``And how should we give again?''
IV.
Then the beggar, ``See your sins!
``Of old, unless I err,
``Ye had brothers for inmates, twins,
``Date and Dabitur.
V.
``While Date was in good case
``Dabitur flourished too:
``For Dabitur's lenten face
``No wonder if Date rue.
VI.
``Would ye retrieve the one?
``Try and make plump the other!
``When Date's penance is done,
``Dabitur helps his brother.
VII.
``Only, beware relapse!''
The Abbot hung his head.
This beggar might be perhaps
An angel, Luther said.
poem by Robert Browning
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The Twins
"Give" and "It-shall-be-given-unto-you"
I
Grand rough old Martin Luther
Bloomed fables-flowers on furze,
The better the uncouther:
Do roses stick like burrs?
II
A beggar asked an alms
One day at an abbey-door,
Said Luther; but, seized with qualms,
The abbot replied, "We're poor!"
III
"Poor, who had plenty once,
When gifts fell thick as rain:
But they give us nought, for the nonce,
And now should we give again?"
IV
Then the beggar, "See your sins!
Of old, unless I err,
Ye had brothers for inmates, twins,
Date and Dabitur.
V
"While Date was in good case
Dabitur flourished too:
For Dabitur's lenten face
No wonder if Date rue.
VI
"Would ye retrieve the one?
Try and make plump the other!
When Date's penance is done,
Dabitur helps his brother.
VII
"Only, beware relapse!"
The Abbot hung his head.
This beggar might be perhaps
An angel, Luther said.
poem by Robert Browning from Men and Women (1855)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Beggar
The thought of great social solitude,
The sight of everyone having an attitude,
Being the neglected in the maltittude,
The pity viewed in verisimilitude,
The life of a beggar
His clothes torn and stomarch empty,
Always dancing to their tune,
Exploited and greatly tortured,
His presence mean nothing to them,
Their presence mean everything to him
He walks door to door for livelihood,
They dont walk to him to give life,
He is seeking life everyday,
Yet life does not seek him even one day
The beggar with rolling tears
Life like that of a beggar,
Love like that of a life,
Begging for the conditional love,
Do I have to beg your love?
Like the beggar beg for life,
My determinism flashes through,
Im breaking the steel bars my love,
Loosening the metalic chains off,
Love is love, not to be begged for,
Love is love, not to use each other,
Love is love, no need for persuation,
For so long it is love,
I will never be begging anymore,
Such love will be deceit,
Such truth will be fake,
And such commitment will be futile
Such a lover will be like a beggar,
Such a beloved will be like a lifegiver,
And such their love will be a shame
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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The Mouse Who Ate Louse
The rat who ate louse
was really funny
as he thought he was fast enough to race the bunny
he had a race with the bunny
and it was funny
that the bunny
raced him as ought to loose
so he said to the goose
oh no here I loose
its OK said the goose
but he said no I hadn't ought to loose
why said the goose
you ought to loose
so said the mouse
its OK I'll have a competition who eats more louse
with the bunny
ya said the funny bunny
lets do the competition
so won the mouse at eating louse! ! ! ! !
poem by Aryaman Ajit Naik
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Hand Me Downs
Ive taken so many down
Ive helped them all to dismount
Ive followed so many down
I take their hand me downs
All with hope
All with hope
That emptiness brings fullness
And loss of love brings wholeness
All with hope
All with hope
That emptiness brings fullness
And loss of love brings wholeness
To us all
Everything that I believe
Crawls from underneath the streets
Everything I truly love
Comes from somewhere far above
Everything that I believe
Is wrong with you is wrong with me
Everything I truly love
I love in you and I love in me
So give me hope
Give me hope
That emptiness brings fullness
And loss of love brings wholeness
To us all
You swear you cant swim the river
(Ive become the beggar now)
(youve become the saint somehow)
But I saw you running to jump in
(Ive become the beggar now)
(youve become the saint somehow)
I swore Id never be your sinner
(Ive become the beggar now)
(youve become the saint somehow)
Til I held your sin
Hand me downs
Now you ask me why Im here
The same as you
Im scared - its fear
Ive become the beggar now
And youve become the saint somehow
Twist the words and place the blame
And tell me now arent we the same
Tripping in our yellow feet
Checking underneath our sheets
For some hope
Give me hope
That emptiness brings fullness
And loss of love brings wholeness
Give me hope
Give me hope
That emptiness brings fullness
And loss of love brings wholeness
To us all
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Be not a beggar
Avoid seeking aids
Unless in bare needs;
Avoid getting helps
Unless in dire needs.
Provide in equals
To those aids and helps.
You should not afford
To be a beggar.
Offer help and aids
That must not be baits;
Offer gifts and kinds
That should not be a debt.
Your pay out should not be
Less than your receipts.
You cannot afford to be a beggar,
You be not greedy
Which makes you ugly.
Then you aren’t shut
Doors by the dear ones.
You may remain poor
But not a beggar.
Being a beggar
Is worse than a slave.
18 09,2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Idealist
Oh you who have daring deeds to tell!
And you who have felt Ambition's spell!
Have you heard of the louse who longed to dwell
In the golden hair of a queen?
He sighed all day and he sighed all night,
And no one could understand it quite,
For the head of a slut is a louse's delight,
But he pined for the head of a queen.
So he left his kinsfolk in merry play,
And off by his lonesome he stole away,
From the home of his youth so bright and gay,
And gloriously unclean.
And at last he came to the palace gate,
And he made his way in a manner straight
(For a louse may go where a man must wait)
To the tiring-room of the queen.
The queen she spake to her tiring-maid:
"There's something the matter, I'm afraid.
To-night ere for sleep my hair ye braid,
Just see what may be seen."
And lo, when they combed that shining hair
They found him alone in his glory there,
And he cried: "I die, but I do not care,
For I've lived in the head of a queen!"
poem by Robert William Service
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Regrets stored
Uncle, aunt and granny,
All poured me love in plenty.
They were gone before I could repay.
There were a great many
Who lent their hands and money.
They were gone before I could repay.
Parents gave me love and blood
And guarded me from any crash.
They were done in benevolent neglect.
Cousins, nieces and nephews,
On whom I showered honey.
Had licked it and slipped away.
There were scattered peers,
Whom I pleased in all spheres.
Ere my asking, they vanished.
Daughter and son were the hopes,
Who too, as grown up, broke their rope
And had no time to repay.
I leave as much creditors
As I have had debtors in my life.
Kindly tally, my Creator.
21.10.97
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Philthy Phil Philanthropist
Theres something wrong with mass consumption why do
We want what we dont need alcohol burn it clean asphalt
Methamphetamine will make it seem alright, its gonna make
It seem alright living in the hunger underground some people
Say I got a problem with authority so what if I do man, it beats
Relinquishing control philthy phil philanthropist rule taken when
You should of give away philthy phil you gave to us more than
We cannot repay theres something grand about being nothing
Theres something lame about being grand alcohol squirting gun
Dont want no holiday in the sun thats me not bein you, thats just
Me not bein either part of the solution or the problem replace
Superman with joe ordinary youve taken when you shoulda
Give away filthy phil you gave to us more that we cannot repay
song performed by by NOFX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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City Of Orgies
CITY of orgies, walks and joys!
City whom that I have lived and sung in your midst will one day make
you illustrious,
Not the pageants of you--not your shifting tableaux, your spectacles,
repay me;
Not the interminable rows of your houses--nor the ships at the
wharves,
Nor the processions in the streets, nor the bright windows, with
goods in them;
Nor to converse with learn'd persons, or bear my share in the soiree
or feast;
Not those--but, as I pass, O Manhattan! your frequent and swift flash
of eyes offering me love,
Offering response to my own--these repay me;
Lovers, continual lovers, only repay me.
poem by Walt Whitman
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