THAT all from Adam first began, None but ungodly Woolston doubts; And that his son, and his son's son, Were all but ploughmen, clowns, and louts. Each, when his rustic pains began, To merit pleaded equal right; 'Twas only who left off at noon Or who went on to work till night. But coronets we owe to crowns, And favour to a court's affection; By nature we are Adam's sons, And sons of Anstis by election. Kingsale! eight hundred years have rolled, Since thy forefathers held the plough; When this in story shall be told, Add, that my kindred do so now. The man who by his labour gets His bread, in independent state, Who never begs, and seldom eats, Himself can fix or change his fate. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAMPLIGHTER by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THIS IS NOT I by FRANCES DAVIS ADAMS TREES AND WAVES by AL-ISRA'ILI SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 34. FAIRY LAND by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) WINTER SONG by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN SONNET: 108 by LUIS DE CAMOENS THE LORDS' MASQUE: THE MASQUERS SECOND DANCE by THOMAS CAMPION |