 | The Collected Songs of Charles Mackay |  |
OF OLD, A SPADE.
I
Of old, a “spade” was call'd a “spade,”By simples and by sages;
A “workman” did his honest “work,”
And “servants” earn'd their “wages.”
A “man” was title of respect,
Whenever virtue named it;
There was but one of higher worth,
And lovely “woman” claim'd it.
But now we masquerade with words,—
The truth a great offence is,—
And desecrate our English tongue
By pride and false pretences.
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II
We shame the language of our sires,We talk so mild and meekly,—
We've “operatives” for working-men,
Who draw their “salaries” weekly.
Our “lady” takes the place of “wife,”
That word so true and hearty;
And every “man” 's a “gentleman,”
Unless we call him “party.”
The “shopman” hates the name of “shop,”
And by perversion, later,
The man who digs a railway trench
Is called a “navigator.”
III
Oh, give us back our ancient speech!It had a soul of beauty;
And let us do our daily “work,”
And think it pleasant duty.
Let's earn our “wages,” as of old,—
The word can never harm us;
Let's love our “sweethearts” and our “wives,”
And own that “women” charm us.
So shall our actions, like our words,
Be void of affectation;
And “spade” be “spade,” and “man” be “man,”
Throughout the British nation.
| The Collected Songs of Charles Mackay | |