Plowman's ditty/The plowman's ditty

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THE PLOWMAN'S DITTY,

Being an answer to that foolish Question,

WHAT HAVE THE POOR TO LOSE.

⁠Because I'm but poor,
⁠And slender my store,
That I've nothing to lose is the cry;
⁠Let who will declare it,
⁠I vow I cant bear it,
I give all such praters the lie.

⁠Tho' my house is but small,
⁠Yet to have none at all,
Would sure be a greater distress, Sir,
⁠Shall my garden, so sweet,
⁠And my orchard, so neat,
Be the prize of a foreign oppressor?

⁠On Saturday’s night
⁠’Tis still my delight,
With my wages to run home the faster,
⁠But if Frenchmen rule here,
⁠I may look far and near,
But I never shall find a pay-master.

⁠I've a dear little wife,
⁠Whom I love as my life,
To lose her I should not much like
⁠And it would make me run wild.
⁠To see my sweet child,
With its head on the point of a pike.

⁠I’ve my church too to save,
⁠And will go to my grave
In defence of a church that’s the best;
⁠I've my King too, God bless him,
⁠Let no man oppress him,
For none has he ever opprest.

⁠British laws for my guard
⁠My cottage is barr’d
Tis safe in the light or the dark.
⁠If the squire should oppress,
⁠I get instant redress,
My orchards as safe as his park.

⁠My cot is my throne,
⁠What I have is my own,
And what is my own I will keep,
⁠Should Bonny come new,
⁠’Tis true I may plow,
But I’m sure that l never shall reap.

⁠Now do but reflect,
⁠What hive I to protect;
When doubt if to fight I shall choose.
⁠King, church, babes and wife,
⁠Laws liberty, life
Now tell me I leave nothing to lose.

⁠Then I’ll beat my plough-share
⁠To a sword or a spear,
And rush on those desperate men:
⁠Like a lion I’ll fight.
⁠That my spear now so bright
May soon turn to a ploughshare again.

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