Song to the Men of England

5Wherefore feed, and clothe, and save,

6From the cradle to the grave,

7Those ungrateful drones who would

8Drain your sweat — nay, drink your blood?

9Wherefore, Bees of England, forge

10Many a weapon, chain, and scourge,

11That these stingless drones may spoil

12The forced produce of your toil?

13Have ye leisure, comfort, calm,

14Shelter, food, love's gentle balm?

15Or what is it ye buy so dear

16With your pain and with your fear?

17The seed ye sow, another reaps;

18The wealth ye find, another keeps;

19The robes ye weave, another wears;

20The arms ye forge; another bears.

21Sow seed, — but let no tyrant reap;

22Find wealth, — let no impostor heap;

23Weave robes, — let not the idle wear;

24Forge arms, — in your defence to bear.

25Shrink to your cellars, holes, and cells;

26In halls ye deck another dwells.

27Why shake the chains ye wrought? Ye see

28The steel ye tempered glance on ye.

29With plough and spade, and hoe and loom,

30Trace your grave, and build your tomb,

31And weave your winding-sheet, till fair

32England be your sepulchre.