Call To Arms

Stand your ground, my valiant cousins, for we live beneath a lie!
Raise your blades in righteousness, for truth has stood too long a-wry!
Hold the torch of Justice to the wine-drenched wood of noble pyres!
Tear the scaffold down, before your necks are stretched by spiteful Squires!
Scream old whispered exhortations, bring them to their gouty knees!
Prove them false, and cowards all, you weary kin of Ulysses!

Farmers, bring your scythes; cut down these rotten crops of ancient days,
The good soil festers from these gaudy, poisoned weeds set in their ways.
These feudal felons beat you, rob you, mark the ground that you may plough,
Let villains reap a bitter harvest from the furrow of your brow!
Are you not angered by their banquets, while your children starve and die?
These Dogs have gold, which murders Need, which murdered them in passing by.

Upon the hilltop hang our heroes crucified. O Misery!
What honest man can hold his tears surveying freedom's Calvary?
Be unashamed of all your weeping, for it weighs your honour's worth
More surely than a thousand claims and titles given at your birth.
If you lack courage but are proud, then listen; do not blame your tools!
The poor men make, the rich men take,
Who will time prove the greater fools?