СКЪПИ ПРИЯТЕЛИ, НЕКА СЕ ПОКЛОНИМ

И ЗАПАЗИМ МЪЛЧАНИЕ ЗА  60 СЕКУНДИ!

ПЪРСИ Б. ШЕЛИ
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ПОСТИНГ#700 Е ЗАПАЗЕН ЗА НЕГО!

Макулатурата, която владее Вселената и разтяга дъвки до Луната и обратно,

да направи челна стойка, за да вижда по- добре!


                      TO THE MEN OF ENGLAND
                    ---------------------------------------------

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 ungrateful 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 robes ye weave, another wears;
The arms ye forge, another bears.


Sow seed, - but let no tyrant reap;
Find wealth, - let no imposter heap;
Weave robes, - let not the idle wear;
Forge arms, - in your defence to bear.


Shrink to your cellars, holes, and cells;
In halls ye deck, another dwells.
Why shake the chanes ye wrought? Ye see.
The steel you tempered glance on ye.


With plough and spade, and hoe and loom.
Trace your grave, and build your tomb,
And  weave your winding- sheet, till fair
England be your sepulchre.