One way of raising the wind
Captain Peale of Antigua, black’d his face and sold himself for a negro!
Then wash’d the soot off, and escap’d with the money.
A half-hearted sweep, sans stockings, hat or shoes,
Caught by the fragrance of spring-garden stews,
Descends the area, and for food he cries —
The smell’s enough for you, the Cook replies.
Food, food! the boy rejoins, and takes his crust —
Well then! since eat you will, now pay you must —
With looks askant the cunning sweep withdraws,
Clinking his halfpence in his sooty paws,
Thanks! Master Cook — to pay I’ve no intent —
As well you live by sound, as I by scent.