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Anarchy aristocrat arms become believe blood blush Bowed comfort coming common dead death draw earth England English eyes fear feeling Freedom friends Give glory God save gold grave ground hand happy heard heart Hope horses insert justice King knew knowledge late laws LIBERTY light look Lord lost manner marked measure meet mighty millions mind mistake moral multitude Murder nature notions occasion opinions pain pale Parliaments Pass patience Poem produces proposal recommends Reform rest rich robe save the Queen seen sensibility shape Shelley Shelley's speak spirit stand stanza strong suffer swords sympathy thee Thine things Thou art thought tion toil trees turn tyrants understanding weak wealth weave Wherefore wind winged wisdom worth writings written
Page 22 - Men of England, wherefore plough For the lords who lay ye low? Wherefore weave with toil and care The rich robes your tyrants wear?
Page 22 - The seed ye sow, another reaps; The wealth ye find, another keeps; The robes ye weave, another wears; The arms ye forge, another bears.
Page 3 - We were sitting with our knees to the fire, to which we had been getting nearer and nearer, in the comfort of finding ourselves together. The pleasure of seeing him was my only feeling at the moment ; and the air of domesticity about us was so complete, that I thought he was going to speak of some family matter, either his or my own, when he asked me, at the close of an intensity of pause, what was " the amount of the National Debt.
Page 14 - Tis to work and have such pay As just keeps life from day to day In your limbs, as in a cell For the tyrants
Page 9 - All were fat ; and well they might Be in admirable plight, For one by one, and two by two, He tossed them human hearts to chew, Which from his wide cloak he drew.
Page 10 - And he wore a kingly crown, And in his grasp a sceptre shone ; On his brow this mark I saw —
Page 16 - Thou art clothes, and fire, and food For the trampled multitude — No — in countries that are free Such starvation cannot be As in England now we see.
Page 22 - Shrink to your cellars, holes, and cells ; In halls 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.