Shall I A Daily Beggar Be, For Love'S Sake Asking Alms Of Thee? Still Shall I Crave, And Never Get A Hope Of My Desired Bit? Ah, Cruel Maids! I'll Go My Way, Whereas, Perchance, My Fortunes May Find Out A Threshold Or A Door That May Far Sooner Speed The Poor: Where Thrice We Knock, And None Will Hear, Cold Comfort Still I'm Sure Lives There.