Another lean unwashed artificer
Cuts off his tale and talks of Arthur's death.

Another lean unwashed artificer
Cuts off his tale and talks of Arthur's death.

Unemployment, with its injustice for the man who seeks and
thirsts for employment, who begs for labour and cannot read more

Unemployment, with its injustice for the man who seeks and
thirsts for employment, who begs for labour and cannot get it,
and who is punished for failure he is not responsible for by the
starvation of his children--that torture is something that
private enterprise ought to remedy for its own sake.

God be thank'd that the dead have left still
Good undone for the living to do--
Still read more

God be thank'd that the dead have left still
Good undone for the living to do--
Still some aim for the heart and the will
And the soul of a man to pursue.

A warke it ys as easie to be done
As tys to saye Jacke! robys on.

A warke it ys as easie to be done
As tys to saye Jacke! robys on.

Now if any man build upon this foundation gold, silver, precious
stones, wood, hay, stubble;
Every man's work read more

Now if any man build upon this foundation gold, silver, precious
stones, wood, hay, stubble;
Every man's work shall be made manifest: for the day shall
declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire
shall try every man's work of what sort it is.

The harder you work, the harder it is to surrender.

The harder you work, the harder it is to surrender.

Man hath his daily work of body or mind
Appointed.

Man hath his daily work of body or mind
Appointed.

With hand on the spade and heart in the sky
Dress the ground and till it;
Turn read more

With hand on the spade and heart in the sky
Dress the ground and till it;
Turn in the little seed, brown and dry,
Turn out the golden millet.
Work, and your house shall be duly fed:
Work, and rest shall be won;
I hold that a man had better be dead
Than alive when his work is done.

How many a rustic Milton has passed by,
Stifling the speechless longings of his heart,
In unremitting read more

How many a rustic Milton has passed by,
Stifling the speechless longings of his heart,
In unremitting drudgery and care!
How many a vulgar Cato has compelled
His energies, no longer tameless then,
To mould a pin, or fabricate a nail!