A Labourer’s Life Give Me
I was never ashamed o’ de soil,
So you needn’t remind me of it;
I was born midst de moil an’ de toil,
An’ I’ll never despise it a bit.
“Sen’ me back to de cutliss an’ hoe!”
I don’t mind, Sir, a wud dat you say,
For little, it seems, you do know
Of de thing dat you sneer at to-day.
If I’d followed a peasant’s career,
I would now be a happier lad;
You would not be abusing me here,
An’ mekin’ me sorry an’ sad.
Fool! I hated my precious birthright,
Scornin’ what made my father a man;
Now I grope in de pitchy dark night,
Hate de day when me poo’ life began.
To de loved country life I’ll return,
I don’t mind at all, Sir, if you smile;
As a peasant my livin’ I’ll earn,
An’ a labourer’s life is worth while.
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