Page:Andromeda, and other poems - Kingsley (1858).djvu/145

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THE BAD SQUIRE.
133
'There's blood on your new foreign shrubs, squire, There's blood on your pointer's feet;There's blood on the game you sell, squire, And there's blood on the game you eat.
'You have sold the labouring-man, squire, Body and soul to shame,To pay for your seat in the House, squire, And to pay for the feed of your game.
'You made him a poacher yourself, squire, When you'd give neither work nor meat,And your barley-fed hares robbed the garden At our starving children's feet;
'When, packed in one reeking chamber, Man, maid, mother, and little ones lay;While the rain pattered in on the rotting bride-bed, And the walls let in the day.
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