At the time he published that which I am about to quote (1783) he was the friend of Burke, and the domestic chaplain of the Duke of Rutland, so that no doubt these very lines were read with admiration in Belvoir Castle, and admitted to be only too true.
Speaking of the poor labourers as "the slaves that dig the golden ore," he says—
"Go, then, and see them rising with the sun,
Through a long course of daily toil to run;
See them beneath the day-star's raging heat,
When the knees tremble and the temples beat:
Behold them leaning on their scythes, look o'er
The labour past, and toils to come explore;
See them alternate suns and showers engage.
And hoard up aches and anguish for their age;
Through fens and marshy moors their steps pursue.
When their warm pores imbibe the evening dew;
Then own that labour may as fatal be
To these thy slaves as thine excess to thee."
Bitter are the poor man's reflections as he thinks over his toilsome life:—
"These fruitful fields, these numerous flocks I see.
Are others' gain, but killing cares to me;
To me the children of my youth are lords,
Cool in their looks, but hasty in their words.
A lonely, wretched man in pain I go.
None need my help, and none relieve my woe;
Then let my bones beneath the turf be laid.
And men forget the wretch they would not aid.
Thus groan the old, till, by disease oppressed.
They taste a final woe, and then they rest."
How could a man with such a passion for rural pursuits, a man all eyes and ears as Cobbett was, how could such a man not fail to see and to be deeply affected by so violent a contrast in the condition of his own countrymen, and that of the people he had been living amongst? Nor would his shrewd and penetrating intellect have been long before it sought to trace out the causes which had produced such a state of things. He soon came to the conclusion that the cause was simply this,—that England was ruled by a Oligarchy for its own benefit. Henceforth he waged as bitter
