THE MASQUE OF ANARCHY

'Tis to let the Ghost of Gold

Take from Toil a thousandfold

More than e'er its substance could

In the tyrannies of old.

'Paper coin - that forgery

Of the title-deeds, which ye

Hold to something of the worth

Of the inheritance of Earth.

'Tis to be a slave in soul

And to hold no strong control

Over your own wills, but be

All that others make of ye.

. . . . . . .

'And these words shall then become

Like Oppression's thundered doom

Ringing through each heart and brain,

Heard again - again - again -

'Rise like Lions after slumber

In unvanquishable number -

Shake to your chains to earth like dew

Which in sleep had fallen on you -

Ye are many - they are few.'

P B Shelly - The Masque of Anarchy

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