Bad Squire

A laborer in Christian England,
Where they cant of a Savior's name,
And yet waste men's lives like vermin's
For a few more brace of game.
. . . . .

We quarreled like brutes, and who wonders?
What self-respect could we keep,
Worse housed than your hacks and your pointers,
Worse fed than your hogs and your sheep?
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.