Where wealth accumulates, and men decay:

Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade—

fade—

A breath can make them, as a breath has made;

But a bold peasantry, their country’s pride,

When once destroy’d, can never be supplied.

A time there was, ere England’s griefs began,

When every rood of ground maintain’d its man:

For him light labour spread her wholesome store,

Just gave what life requir’d, but gave no more;

His best companions, innocence and health,

And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

But times are alter’d; trade’s unfeeling train

Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain:

Along the lawn, where scatter’d hamlets rose,

Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose;

And every want to luxury allied,

And every pang that folly pays to pride.

Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom,

Those calm desires that ask’d but little room,

 Prev. P 44/189 next