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Men of England


This track features a poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley which is more political than 90% of the tunes on Spotify. It calls on working people not to accept exploitation and to rise up.  Written shortly after the Peterloo massacre (1819), it was thought too inflammatory to publish during Shelly's lifetime. Idles take note.

Men of England, wherefore plough 

For the lords who lay ye 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 would 

Drain your sweat—nay, drink your blood? 

Wherefore, Bees of England, forge 

Many a weapon, chain, and scourge, 

That these stingless drones may spoil 

The forced produce of your toil? 

Have ye leisure, comfort, calm, 

Shelter, food, love’s gentle balm? 

Or what is it 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 imposter heap: 

Weave robes—let not the idle wear: 

Forge arms—in your defence to bear. 

Shrink to your cellars, holes, and cells— 

In hall ye deck another dwells. 

Why shake the chains ye wrought? Ye see 

The steel ye tempered glance on ye. 

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. 

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For Essex Calves a Pasture

For Essex Calves a Pasture

'For Essex Calves a Pasture' is our new track,  in it we protest about the Land Enclosures Act and call on the men of the Fens to rise up and prevent the toffs of Essex from taking our land.  17th Century Politics. Wooo !

 Powte's Complaint

Come, Brethren of the water, and let us all assemble,
To treat upon this matter, which makes us quake and tremble;
For we shall rue it, if''t be true, that Fens be undertaken
And where we feed in Fen and Reed, they'll feed both Beef and Bacon.

They'll sow both beans and oats, where never man yet thought it,
Where men did row in boats, ere undertakers brought it:
But, Ceres, thou, behold us now, let wild oats be their venture,
Oh let the frogs and miry bogs destroy where they do enter.

Behold the great design, which they do now determine,
Will make our bodies pine, a prey to crows and vermine:
For they do mean all Fens to drain, and waters overmaster,
All will be dry, and we must die, 'cause Essex calves want pasture.

Away with boats and rudder, farewell both boots and skatches,
No need of one nor th'other, men now make better matches;
Stilt-makers all and tanners, shall complain of this disaster,
For they will make each muddy lake for Essex calves a pasture.

The feather'd fowls have wings, to fly to to other nations;
But we have no such things, to help our transportations;
We must give place (oh grievous case) to horned beasts and cattle,
Except that we can all agree to drive them out by battle.