10 Best Famous Delinquents Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Delinquents poems. This is a select list of the best famous Delinquents poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Delinquents poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of delinquents poems.

• All Famous Delinquents Poems

 NO better Dog e'er kept his Master's Door 
Than honest Snarl, who spar'd nor Rich nor Poor; 
But gave the Alarm, when any one drew nigh, 
Nor let pretended Friends pass fearless by: 
For which reprov'd, as better Fed than Taught, 
He rightly thus expostulates the Fault. 

To keep the House from Rascals was my Charge; 
The Task was great, and the Commission large. 
Nor did your Worship e'er declare your Mind, 
That to the begging Crew it was confin'd; 
Who shrink an Arm, or prop an able Knee, 
Or turn up Eyes, till they're not seen, nor see. 
To Thieves, who know the Penalty of Stealth, 
And fairly stake their Necks against your Wealth, 
These are the known Delinquents of the Times, 
And Whips and Tyburn. testify their Crimes. 

But since to Me there was by Nature lent 
An exquisite Discerning by the Scent; 
I trace a Flatt'rer, when he fawns and leers, 
A rallying Wit, when he commends and jeers: 
The greedy Parasite I grudging note, 
Who praises the good Bits, that oil his Throat; 
I mark the Lady, you so fondly toast, 
That plays your Gold, when all her own is lost: 
The Knave, who fences your Estate by Law, 
Yet still reserves an undermining Flaw. 
These and a thousand more, which I cou'd tell, 
Provoke my Growling, and offend my Smell.

 YOU felons on trial in courts; 
You convicts in prison-cells—you sentenced assassins, chain’d and
 hand-cuff’d
 with
 iron; 
Who am I, too, that I am not on trial, or in prison? 
Me, ruthless and devilish as any, that my wrists are not chain’d with iron, or my
 ankles
 with
 iron? 

You prostitutes flaunting over the trottoirs, or obscene in your rooms,
Who am I, that I should call you more obscene than myself? 

O culpable! 
I acknowledge—I exposé! 
(O admirers! praise not me! compliment not me! you make me wince, 
I see what you do not—I know what you do not.)

Inside these breast-bones I lie smutch’d and choked; 
Beneath this face that appears so impassive, hell’s tides continually run; 
Lusts and wickedness are acceptable to me; 
I walk with delinquents with passionate love; 
I feel I am of them—I belong to those convicts and prostitutes myself,
And henceforth I will not deny them—for how can I deny myself?