Abundant is the earth — the Sire of all
Saw and pronounced that it was very good.
Look round: the vernal fields smile with new flowers,
The budding orchard perfumes the sweet breeze,
And the green corn waves to the passing gale.
There is enough for all, but your proud Baron
Stands up and arrogant of strength exclaims:
I am a Lord — by nature I am noble;
These fields are mine, for I was born to them,
I was born to the castle — you, poor wretches,
Whelped in the cottage, are by birth my slaves."
Almighty God, such blasphemies are uttered,
Almighty God, such blasphemies believed!
— ROBERT SOUTHEY, Speech of John Ball in Wat Tyler, Act II., Scene 1.
Here is the section from which the passage above was excerpted:
,
JOHN BALL.
Friends! Brethren! for ye are my brethren all;
Englishmenmet in arms to advocate
The cause of freedom! hear me! pause awhile
In the career of vengeance; it is true
I am a priest; but, as these rags may speak,
Not one who riots in the poor man's spoil,
Or trades with his religion. I am one
Who preach the law of Christ, and in my life,
Would practise what he taught. The son of God
Came not to you in power: humble in mien,
Lowly in heart, the man of Nazareth
Preach'd mercy, justice, love: "Woe unto ye,
Ye that are rich: — if that ye would he saved,
Sell that ye have, and give unto the poor."
So taught the Saviour: oh, my honest friends!
Have ye not felt the strong indignant throb
Of justice in your hosoms, to hehold
The lordly Baron feasting on your spoils?
Have you not in your hearts arraign'd the lot
That gave him on the couch of luxury
To pillow his head, and pass the festive day
In sportive feasts, and ease, and revelry?
Have you not often in your conscience ask'd
Why is the difference, wherefore should that man,
No worthier than myself, thus lord it over me,
And bid me labour, and enjoy the fruits?
The God within your breasts has argued thus!
The voice of truth has murmur'd; came ye not
As helpless to the world? Shines not the sun
With equal ray on both? — Do ye not feel
The self same winds of heaven as keenly parch ye?
Abundant is the earth—the Sire of all,
Saw and pronounc'd that it was very good.
Look round: the vernal fields smile with new flowers,
The budding orchard perfumes the soft breeze,
And the green corn waves to the passing gale.
There is enough for all, but your proud Baron
Stands up, and arrogant of strength exclaims,
"I am a Lord -- by nature I am noble:
These fields are mine, for I was born to them,
I was horn in the castle — you, poor wretches,
Whelp'd in the cottage, are by birth my slaves."
Almighty God! such blasphemies are utter'd!
Almighty God! such blasphemies believ'd!
TOM MILLER. This is something like a sermon,
JACK STRAW.
Where's the bishop
Would tell you truths like these?
HOB.
There was never a bishop among all the apostles.
JOHN BALL,
My brethren!
PIERS.
Silence, the good priest speaks.
JOHN BALL.
My brethren, these are truths, and weighty ones:
Ye are all equal: nature made ye so.
Equality is your birth-right; — when I gaze
On the proud palace, and behold one man
In the blood-purpled robes of royalty,
Feasting at ease, and lording over millions,
Then turn me to the hut of poverty,
And see the wretched lab'rer worn with toil,
Divide his scanty morsel with his infants,
I sicken, and indignant at the sight,
"Blush for the patience of humanity."
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