THE PLOWMAN'S DITTY,
Being an answer to that foolish Question,
WHAT HAVE THE POOR TO LOSE.
Because I'm but poor,
And slender my store,
That I've nothing to lose is the cry;
Let who will declare it,
I vow I cant bear it,
I give all such praters the lie.
Tho' my house is but small,
Yet to have none at all,
Would sure be a greater distress, Sir,
Shall my garden, so sweet,
And my orchard, so neat,
Be the prize of a foreign oppressor?
On Saturday’s night
’Tis still my delight,
With my wages to run home the faster,
But if Frenchmen rule here,
I may look far and near,
But I never shall find a pay-master.
I've a dear little wife,
Whom I love as my life,
To lose her I should not much like
And it would make me run wild.
To see my sweet child,
With its head on the point of a pike.
I’ve my church too to save,
And will go to my grave
In defence of a church that’s the best;
I've my King too, God bless him,
Let no man oppress him,
For none has he ever opprest.
British laws for my guard
My cottage is barr’d
Tis safe in the light or the dark.
If the squire should oppress,
I get instant redress,
My orchards as safe as his park.
My cot is my throne,
What I have is my own,
And what is my own I will keep,
Should Bonny come new,
’Tis true I may plow,
But I’m sure that l never shall reap.
Now do but reflect,
What hive I to protect;
When doubt if to fight I shall choose.
King, church, babes and wife,
Laws liberty, life
Now tell me I leave nothing to lose.
Then I’ll beat my plough-share
To a sword or a spear,
And rush on those desperate men:
Like a lion I’ll fight.
That my spear now so bright
May soon turn to a ploughshare again.