Society and the World

Toll for the brave— The brave! that are no more; All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore!

An honest man, close-button’d to the chin, Broadcloth without, and a warm heart within.

May give a useful lesson to the head, And Learning wiser grow without his books.

But war’s a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.

But war’s a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.

’Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, To peep at such a world; to see the stir Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd.

Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free! They touch our country, and their shackles fall.

God made the country, and man made the town.

Oh for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumor of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war, Might never reach me more.

I am monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute.

How much a dunce that has been sent to roam Excels a dunce that has been kept at home!

How happy he who crowns in shades like these, A youth of labor with an age of ease.

The watchdog’s voice that bay’d the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind. 6

His best companions, innocence and health; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay; Princes and lords may flourish, or may 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.

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay; Princes and lords may flourish, or may 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.

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay; Princes and lords may flourish, or may 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.

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain.

Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law.

Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law.

The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms. 4

For just experience tells; in every soil, That those that think must govern those that toil.

For just experience tells; in every soil, That those that think must govern those that toil.

Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, I see the lords of humankind 3 pass by.