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. Common-weal

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.