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...TO COLE, THE PAINTER, DEPARTING FOR EUROPE by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT A STRANGE MEETING by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE BROKEN HEART by JOHN DONNE LOVE'S RESURRECTION DAY by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON CLEOPATRA by WILLIAM WETMORE STORY THE MILKMAID by JEFFREYS TAYLOR DESTINY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |