Men of England, wherefore plough

For the Lords who lay you low?

Wherefore weave with toil and care

The rich robes your tyrants wear?



Wherefore feed and clothe and save

From the cradle to the grave

Those ungrateful drones who

Drain your sweat - nay, drink your blood



Have ye Leisure, comfort, calm

Shelter, food, love's gentle balm?

Or what is ye buy so dear

With your pain and with your fear



The seed ye sow another reaps

The wealth ye find, another keeps

THe robes ye weave, another wears

The arms ye forge, another bears



Sow seed - but let no tyrant reap

Find wealth - let no impostor heap

Weave robes - let not the idle wear

Forge arms - in your defence to bear



With plough and spade and hoe and loom

Trace your grave and build your tomb

And weave your winding sheet till fair

England be your sepulchre