Song to the Men of England                           

       By Percy Pysshe Shelley

Men of ︱ England, ︳wherefore ︳plough

For the ︳lords who ︳lay ye ︳low?

Wherefore ︳weave with ︳toil and ︳care

The rich ︳robes your ︳tyrants ︳wear?

Wherefore feed, and clothe, and save

From the cradle to the grave,

Those un grateful drones who would

Drain your sweat—nay, drink your blood?

Wherefore, ︳bees of ︳England, ︳forge

Many a ︳weapon, ︳chain, and ︳scourge,

That these ︳stingless ︳drones may ︳spoil

The forced ︳produce ︳of your ︳toil?

Have ye ︳leisure, ︳comfort, ︳calm,

Shelter, ︳food, love’s ︳gentle ︳balm?

Or what is ︳it ye ︳buy so ︳dear

With your ︳pain and ︳with your ︳fear

The seed ye sow, another reaps;

The wealth ye find, another keeps;

The robe ye weave, another wears;

The arms ye forge, another bears.

Sow seed, ︱—but let ︱no ty ︱ rant reap;

Find wealth, ︱—let no ︱impos ︱ ter keep;

Weave robes, ︱—let not ︱the i ︱dle wear;

Forge arms, ︱—in your ︱ defence ︱to bear. 

[or]

Shrink to︱your cel ︱lars, holes, ︱and cells;

In halls ︱ye deck ︱anoth ︱er dwells.

Why shake ︱the chains ︱ye wrought? ︱ye see

The steel ︱ye tem ︱pered glance ︱on ye.

With plough ︱and spade, ︱and hoe ︱and loom,

Trace ︱your grave, ︱and build ︱your tomb,

And weave ︱your wind ︱ ing-sheet, ︱till fair

Eng ︱land be ︱your  se ︱ pulchre.

Comment: 

The poet takes eight stanzas to call upon the people on England to understand and do something about their state of oppression. People plow for the sake of the lords, who are like drone bees that do no work but live off of the work of others. The people of England are doing the real work—but, the poet asks, are they gaining any benefit from this system? They are not enjoying the fruits of their labor, and the tyrants are taking their wealth and very lives without giving them the recompense they deserve. The call is to sow their own seed, weave their own robes, and forge their own arms in their own defense. Otherwise, the people are merely digging their own graves.