The poem
upon the Unemployed
Tom—garlanded with squat and surly steel Tom; then Tom's fallowbootfellow piles pick By him and rips out rockfire homeforth—sturdy Dick; Tom Heart-at-ease, Tom Navvy: he is all for his meal Sure, 's bed now. Low be it: lustily he his low lot (feel That ne'er need hunger, Tom; Tom seldom sick, Seldomer heartsore; that treads through, prickproof, thick Thousands of thorns, thoughts) swings though. Commonweal Little I reck ho! lacklevel in, if all had bread: What! Country is honour enough in all us—lordly head, With heaven's lights high hung round, or, mother-ground That mammocks, mighty foot. But no way sped, Nor mind nor mainstrength; gold go garlanded With, perilous, O nó; nor yet plod safe shod sound; Undenizened, beyond bound Of earth's glory, earth's ease, all; no one, nowhere, In wide the world's weal; rare gold, bold steel, bare In both; care, but share care— This, by Despair, bred Hangdog dull; by Rage, Manwolf, worse; and their packs infest the age.