Page:Alton Locke, tailor and poet - an autobiography, volume 2.djvu/310

300 cabin, dead, his head resting on the table as peacefully as if he had slumbered. On a sheet of paper by him were written the following verses; the ink was not yet dry:

Weep, weep, weep, and weep,

For pauper, dolt, and slave;

Hark! from wasted moor and fen,

Feverous alley, workhouse den,

Swells the wail of Englishmen;

"Work! or the grave!"

Down, down, down, and down,

With idler, knave, and tyrant;

Why for sluggards stint and moil?

He that will not live by toil

Has no right on English soil;

God's word's our warrant!

Up, up, up, and up,

Face your game, and play it!

The night is past—behold the sun!—

The cup is full, the web is spun,

The Judge is set, the doom begun;

Who shall stay it?