Why!

"Why is it we toil so?
    Where go all the gains?
What do we produce for it,
    All our pangs and pains?"

Why it is we toil so,
    Is it because, like sheep,
Since our fathers sought the shears,
    We the same course keep.

Where go all the gains? Well,
    It must be confessed,
First the landlords take the rent,
    And the masters take the rest.

What do we produce for it?
    Gentlemen! - and then
Imitation snobs who'd be
    Like the gentlemen!

"What, is it for such as these
    That we suffer thus?
Fuddle-brained and vicious fools,
    Vermin venomous?

"What, is that why on the top
    Creeps that Royal Louse,
The prince of pheasants and cigars,
    Of ballet-girls and grouse?"

Yes, that's why, my Christian friends,
    They slave and slaughter us.
England is made a dunghill that
    Some bugs may breed and buzz.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Francis William Lauderdale Adams (27 September 1862 – 4 September 1893) was an English writer, poet, dramatist, and social reformer. His literary work often reflected his radical socialist views. Adams lived a life marred by poverty and struggles with his health, eventually committing suicide at the age of 30. Despite his brief life, his contributions to literature and social thought remain significant.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

In The Pit. "Chant Of The Firemen."

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

Hong-Kong Lyrics.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

Art.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

To His Love.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

English

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An Expostulation To Lord King.

        "quem das finem, rex magne, laborum?"
        VERGIL.


1826.


How can you, my Lord, thus delight to torment all
    The Peers of the realm about cheapening their corn,^[1]
When you know, if one hasn't a very high rental,
    'Tis hardly worth while being very high born?

Why bore them so rudely, each night of your life,
    On a question, my Lord, there's so much to abhor in?
A question-like asking one, "How is your wife?"--
    At once so confounded domestic and foreign.

As to weavers, no matter how poorly they feast;
    But Peers and such animals, fed up for show,
(Like the well-physickt elephant, lately deceased,)
    Take a wonderful quantum of cramming, you know.

You might se...

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Upstarts.

What? do you say that we, the toilers - the slaves -
    (Why strain at the gnat name
Who swallow the camel thing your pocket craves?) -
    That we are "just the same,"

(Nay, worse) when power is ours and wealth - that we
    Are harder masters still,
More keen to ring her last from misery,
    More greedy of our will?

'Tis true! And when you see men so - see us
    Sneer at us, call us swine! -
"How we must love you who have made us thus,
    You may perhaps divine!"

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Man, Cat, Dog, And Fly.

        (To my Native Land.)


        My native land, whose fertile ground
        Neptune and Amphitrite bound, -
        Britain, of trade the chosen mart,
        The seat of industry and art, -
        May never luxury or minister
        Cast over thee a mantle sinister!
        Still let thy fleet and cannon's roar
        Affright thy foes and guard thy shore.
        When Continental States contend,
        Be thou to them a common friend.
        Imperial rule may sway their land;
        Here Commerce only takes her stand,
        Diffusing good o'er all the world.
        The flag of Commerce, where unfurled,
        Stands with fair plenty in her train,
        And wealth, to bless her bright domain.
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Cui Bono

Oh! wind that whistles oer thorns and thistles,
Of this fruitful earth like a goblin elf;
Why should he labour to help his neighbour
Who feels too reckless to help himself?
The wail of the breeze in the bending trees
Is something between a laugh and a groan;
And the hollow roar of the surf on the shore
Is a dull, discordant monotone;
I wish I could guess what sense they express,
Theres a meaning, doubtless, in every sound,
Yet no one can tell, and it may be as well,
Whom would it profit? The world goes round!

On this earth so rough we know quite enough,
And, I sometimes fancy, a little too much;
The sage may be wiser than clown or than kaiser,
Is he more to be envied for being such?
Neither more nor less, in his idleness
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To John Ruskin. (After Reading His "Modern Painters.")

Yes, you do well to mock us, you
    Who knew our bitter woe -
To jeer the false, deny the true
    In us blind struggling low,

While, on your pleasant place aloft
    With flowers and clouds and streams,
At our black sweat and toil you scoffed
    That marred your idle dreams.

"Oh, freedom, what was that to us,"
(You'd shout down to us there),
"Except the freedom foul, vicious,
    From all of good and fair?

"Obedience, faith, humility,
    To us were empty names." -
The like to you (might we reply)
    Whose noisy life proclaims

Presumption, want of human love,
    Impatience, filthy breath, {32}
The snob in soul who looks above,
    Trampling on what...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

The Truth.

Come then, let us at least know what's the truth.
    Let us not blink our eyes and say
We did not understand; old age or youth
    Benumbed our sense or stole our sight away.

It is a lie - just that, a lie - to declare
    That wages are the worth of work.
No; they are what the Employer wills to spare
    To let the Employee sheer starvation shirk.

They're the life-pittance Competition leaves,
    The least for which brother'll slay brother.
He who the fruits of this hell-strife receives,
    He is a thief, an assassin, and none other!

It is a lie - just that, a lie - to declare
    That Rent's the interest on just gains.
Rent's the thumb-screw that makes the worker share
    With him who worked not the produce of his pains.

Rent's the...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams