Abundant is the earth — the Sire of all Saw and pronounced that it was very good. Look round: the vernal fields smile with new flowers, The budding orchard perfumes the sweet breeze, And the green corn waves to the passing gale. There is enough for all, but your proud BaronStands up and arrogant of strength exclaims:I am a Lord — by nature I am noble;These fields are mine, for I was born to them,I was born to the castle — you, poor wretches,Whelped in the cottage, are by birth my slaves." Almighty God, such blasphemies are uttered, Almighty God, such blasphemies believed! — ROBERT SOUTHEY, Speech of John Ball in Wat Tyler, Act II., Scene 1.

This 1817 dramatic poem is a 48-page book

Here is the section from which the passage above was excerpted:

, JOHN BALL.

Friends! Brethren! for ye are my brethren all;

Englishmenmet in arms to advocate

The cause of freedom! hear me! pause awhile

In the career of vengeance; it is true I am a priest; but, as these rags may speak, Not one who riots in the poor man’s spoil, Or trades with his religion. I am one Who preach the law of Christ, and in my life, Would practise what he taught. The son of God

Came not to you in power: humble in mien, Lowly in heart, the man of Nazareth Preach’d mercy, justice, love: “Woe unto ye,

Ye that are rich: — if that ye would he saved, Sell that ye have, and give unto the poor.” So taught the Saviour: oh, my honest friends! Have ye not felt the strong indignant throb Of justice in your hosoms, to hehold The lordly Baron feasting on your spoils? Have you not in your hearts arraign’d the lot That gave him on the couch of luxury To pillow his head, and pass the festive day In sportive feasts, and ease, and revelry? Have you not often in your conscience ask’d Why is the difference, wherefore should that man,

No worthier than myself, thus lord it over me, And bid me labour, and enjoy the fruits? The God within your breasts has argued thus! The voice of truth has murmur’d; came ye not

As helpless to the world? Shines not the sun With equal ray on both? — Do ye not feel The self same winds of heaven as keenly parch ye? Abundant is the earth—the Sire of all, Saw and pronounc’d that it was very good. Look round: the vernal fields smile with new flowers, The budding orchard perfumes the soft breeze, And the green corn waves to the passing gale. There is enough for all, but your proud Baron Stands up, and arrogant of strength exclaims, “I am a Lord – by nature I am noble: These fields are mine, for I was born to them, I was horn in the castle — you, poor wretches, Whelp’d in the cottage, are by birth my slaves.”

Almighty God! such blasphemies are utter’d! Almighty God! such blasphemies believ’d!

TOM MILLER. This is something like a sermon,

JACK STRAW.

Where’s the bishop Would tell you truths like these?

HOB.

There was never a bishop among all the apostles.

JOHN BALL,

My brethren!

PIERS.

Silence, the good priest speaks.

JOHN BALL.

My brethren, these are truths, and weighty ones:

Ye are all equal: nature made ye so. Equality is your birth-right; — when I gaze On the proud palace, and behold one man In the blood-purpled robes of royalty, Feasting at ease, and lording over millions, Then turn me to the hut of poverty, And see the wretched lab’rer worn with toil, Divide his scanty morsel with his infants, I sicken, and indignant at the sight, “Blush for the patience of humanity.”