41.
’So that ye for them are made
Loom, and plough, and sword, and spade,
165
With or without your own will bent
To their defence and nourishment.
42.
’’Tis to see your children weak
With their mothers pine and peak,
When the winter winds are bleak,—
170
They are dying whilst I speak.
43.
’’Tis to hunger for such diet
As the rich man in his riot
Casts to the fat dogs that lie
Surfeiting beneath his eye;
175
44.
’’Tis to let the Ghost of Gold
Take from Toil a thousandfold
More than e’er its substance could
In the tyrannies of old.
45.
’Paper coin—that forgery
180
Of the title-deeds, which ye
Hold to something of the worth
Of the inheritance of Earth.
46.
’’Tis to be a slave in soul
And to hold no strong control
185
Over your own wills, but be
All that others make of ye.
47.
’And at length when ye complain
With a murmur weak and vain
’Tis to see the Tyrant’s crew
190
Ride over your wives and you
Blood is on the grass like dew.
48.
’Then it is to feel revenge
Fiercely thirsting to exchange
Blood for blood—and wrong for wrong—
195
Do not thus when ye are strong.
49.
’Birds find rest, in narrow nest
When weary of their winged quest;
Beasts find fare, in woody lair
When storm and snow are in the air.
200
50.
’Asses, swine, have litter spread
And with fitting food are fed;
All things have a home but one—
Thou, Oh, Englishman, hast none!
51.
’This is Slavery—savage men,
205
Or wild beasts within a den
Would endure not as ye do—
But such ills they never knew.
52.
’What art thou Freedom? O! could slaves
Answer from their living graves
210
This demand—tyrants would flee
Like a dream’s dim imagery:
53.
’Thou art not, as impostors say,
A shadow soon to pass away,
A superstition, and a name
215
Echoing from the cave of Fame.
54.
’For the labourer thou art bread,
And a comely table spread
From his daily labour come
In a neat and happy home.
220
55.
Thou art clothes, and fire, and food
For the trampled multitude—
No—in countries that are free
Such starvation cannot be
As in England now we see.
225