 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
70
WORK! 1888.
Theorist, and bat-like student
Blinking feebly in the light,
Bid us nothing do imprudent,
Till this cursed mess comes right;
Aye, the antiquated scholar,
Smacking of his musty books,
Smirking through his classic collar,
But at things behind him looks;
All, in spite of trade dejection,
Think that we can only wait,
Swear the Devil is Protection,
Which will never put us straight;
Tell us we must humbly linger,
Rotting on our beds of straw,
Dare not even uplift a finger,
Doubting science and its law;
Boasting of their sole solution,
One for every strife and storm,
Quack receipt of evolution,
Which will yet the world reform;
Fools in phrases take enjoyment,
Party cant and cries be damned!
Soon on us, with no employment,
Will the Workhouse door be slammed.
Blinking feebly in the light,
Bid us nothing do imprudent,
Till this cursed mess comes right;
Aye, the antiquated scholar,
Smacking of his musty books,
Smirking through his classic collar,
But at things behind him looks;
All, in spite of trade dejection,
Think that we can only wait,
Swear the Devil is Protection,
Which will never put us straight;
Tell us we must humbly linger,
Rotting on our beds of straw,
Dare not even uplift a finger,
Doubting science and its law;
Boasting of their sole solution,
One for every strife and storm,
Quack receipt of evolution,
Which will yet the world reform;
Fools in phrases take enjoyment,
Party cant and cries be damned!
Soon on us, with no employment,
Will the Workhouse door be slammed.
All are now for forms and phrases,
Not the measures that assist,
Wandering through the fancy phases
Of the last mad theorist;
No one cares, if Truth and Honor
Die, and harlot falsehoods live,
But for any sham Madonna
Dives will his thousands give;
No one cares, while rogues are carving
Fortunes from the bleeding State,
If the honest men go starving,
Only have an empty plate;
No one cares, though some new notion
Bought with sacrifice immense,
Framed to furnish knaves promoting
Is worked out at our expense;
All are for the loaves and fishes,
Want their pile a little more,
Scraping, scraping dirty dishes,
That were scraped, and scraped before;
Is it duty to your neighbour
Asking bread to cut him short?
Give us just the rights of labour,
Ways and means of man's support.
Not the measures that assist,
Wandering through the fancy phases
Of the last mad theorist;
No one cares, if Truth and Honor
Die, and harlot falsehoods live,
But for any sham Madonna
Dives will his thousands give;
No one cares, while rogues are carving
Fortunes from the bleeding State,
If the honest men go starving,
Only have an empty plate;
No one cares, though some new notion
Bought with sacrifice immense,
Framed to furnish knaves promoting
Is worked out at our expense;
All are for the loaves and fishes,
Want their pile a little more,
Scraping, scraping dirty dishes,
That were scraped, and scraped before;
Is it duty to your neighbour
Asking bread to cut him short?
Give us just the rights of labour,
Ways and means of man's support.
71
Partisans must live, and prating
Politicians too will lie,
Though while they are still debating
Workers drop and hourly die;
Parliament each small division
Must effect, while we lack bread,
And the Queen's grand Opposition
Will not even inter our dead;
Yes, this great and glorious nation
Spends its precious hours in sport,
Splitting hairs in speculation,
On a rumour or report;
Something must be said, if only
Sounding breath an ass might bray,
While we languish sad and lonely,
Mocked by Government at play;
Something must be done, no matter
How contemptible and small,
Though beneath the cloud and clatter,
Needy servants faint and fall;
Time they make for any trifles,
If providing rich men spoil,
Murderous bayonets and rifles,
Not for simple men who toil.
Politicians too will lie,
Though while they are still debating
Workers drop and hourly die;
Parliament each small division
Must effect, while we lack bread,
And the Queen's grand Opposition
Will not even inter our dead;
Yes, this great and glorious nation
Spends its precious hours in sport,
Splitting hairs in speculation,
On a rumour or report;
Something must be said, if only
Sounding breath an ass might bray,
While we languish sad and lonely,
Mocked by Government at play;
Something must be done, no matter
How contemptible and small,
Though beneath the cloud and clatter,
Needy servants faint and fall;
Time they make for any trifles,
If providing rich men spoil,
Murderous bayonets and rifles,
Not for simple men who toil.
Must we wait, while sots are dining
Who would grudge the very crumbs,
Till our pedants cease refining,
Only for the downturned thumbs?
Wait, for better days to nourish
Us, who feel the present pang,
Hoping trade again may flourish,
Though mean while we rot or hang?
Wait, perchance, till corn is dearer,
Genteel loafers learn to farm,
Fools their paradise bring nearer,
While its cunning leaves our arm?
Wait—when we no more can borrow
Bread, long wasted so by some,—
Blindly, for the brighter morrow,
Which will never never come?
Wait, though the black tide is flowing,
Fierce to carry us away,
While the promised food is growing,
And we famish with delay?
Give us not more words, when treasures
Countless lie in game-run lands,
Ill it is to mock with measures
Hungry men with idle hands.
Who would grudge the very crumbs,
Till our pedants cease refining,
Only for the downturned thumbs?
Wait, for better days to nourish
Us, who feel the present pang,
Hoping trade again may flourish,
Though mean while we rot or hang?
Wait, perchance, till corn is dearer,
Genteel loafers learn to farm,
Fools their paradise bring nearer,
While its cunning leaves our arm?
Wait—when we no more can borrow
Bread, long wasted so by some,—
Blindly, for the brighter morrow,
Which will never never come?
Wait, though the black tide is flowing,
Fierce to carry us away,
While the promised food is growing,
And we famish with delay?
Give us not more words, when treasures
Countless lie in game-run lands,
Ill it is to mock with measures
Hungry men with idle hands.
72
Out upon the empty crazes,
Shibboleths of party tricks,
Dragging labour into mazes,
Where it only starves and sticks!
Out upon the wretched riddle,
Toyed by either side in turn,
Only that a few may fiddle,
While the many victims burn!
Out upon the greed of Mammon,
Capital that seeks afar
Interest, and us with gammon
Dares from proper rights debar!
Out upon the senile mumbling,
Oracles with lying lip,
Ministries that through their fumbling
Fingers let good fortune slip!
Out upon the statesmen, merely
Patriotic when it pays,
True for place, and so severely
Just in profitable ways!
Will your readjusting level,
Furnish food and speed the spade?
If Protection is the Devil,
What the Devil is Free Trade?
Shibboleths of party tricks,
Dragging labour into mazes,
Where it only starves and sticks!
Out upon the wretched riddle,
Toyed by either side in turn,
Only that a few may fiddle,
While the many victims burn!
Out upon the greed of Mammon,
Capital that seeks afar
Interest, and us with gammon
Dares from proper rights debar!
Out upon the senile mumbling,
Oracles with lying lip,
Ministries that through their fumbling
Fingers let good fortune slip!
Out upon the statesmen, merely
Patriotic when it pays,
True for place, and so severely
Just in profitable ways!
Will your readjusting level,
Furnish food and speed the spade?
If Protection is the Devil,
What the Devil is Free Trade?
Change of front is no solution,
Fit for problem grave—you shout—
Ruinous—but Revolution,
Very soon will come without;
Idle hands are worse than stranger
Thirsting for a nation's blood—
Still they loom a standing danger,
Ready to burst forth in flood;
Idle brains, for which no Cupid
Now gives pleasure, yet will plot
Rulers' end, too rich and stupid
To perceive their fated lot;
Empty mouths, with children crying
Sorely, vainly to be fed,
Tamely will not stoop to dying,
Nor take pavement stones for bread;
Aching hearts, with outraged feelings,
Righteous pleas rejected long,
Passionate from hopeless kneelings,
Fly to arms for slighted wrong;
Is there now no room for others,
In unsetting England's day?
Ah, remember we are brothers,
Work alone is what we pray.
Fit for problem grave—you shout—
Ruinous—but Revolution,
Very soon will come without;
Idle hands are worse than stranger
Thirsting for a nation's blood—
Still they loom a standing danger,
Ready to burst forth in flood;
Idle brains, for which no Cupid
Now gives pleasure, yet will plot
Rulers' end, too rich and stupid
To perceive their fated lot;
Empty mouths, with children crying
Sorely, vainly to be fed,
Tamely will not stoop to dying,
Nor take pavement stones for bread;
Aching hearts, with outraged feelings,
Righteous pleas rejected long,
Passionate from hopeless kneelings,
Fly to arms for slighted wrong;
Is there now no room for others,
In unsetting England's day?
Ah, remember we are brothers,
Work alone is what we pray.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |