Thus lived the lad, in hunger, peril, pain,
His tears despised, his supplications vain:
Compe'lld by fear to lie, by need to steal,
His bed uneasy and unbless'd his meal,
For three sad years the boy his tortures bore,
And then his pains and trials were no more.
"How died he, Peter?" when the people said,
He growl'd--"I found him lifeless in his bed;"
Then tried for softer tone, and sigh'd, "Poor Sam is dead."
Yet murmurs were there, and some questions ask'd -
How he was fed, how punish'd, and how task'd?
Much they suspected, but they little proved,
And Peter pass'd untroubled and unmoved.
Another boy with equal ease was found,
The money granted, and the victim bound;
And what his fate?--One night it chanced he fell
From the boat's mast and perish'd in her well,
Where fish were living kept, and where the boy
(So reason'd men) could not himself destroy: -
"Yes! so it was" said Peter, "in his play,
(For he was idle both by night and day,)
He climb'd the main-mast and then fell below;" -
Then show'd his corpse, and pointed to the blow.
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