Robert Crawford - Work.

For thyself work, not for another, so
'Tis possible; else all thy worth is his
Whose maybe paltry payment scarce serves to
The base sufficing of thy bed and board:
And all thy days to this sad use are given,
Till age or sickness shall subdue thy pith,
And put thee on the Jewish mercy of
The monstrous world, ere like a brute's, alas!
Thy poor remainder finds a burial.

Robert Crawford

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/work-38/