The dog is turned to his own vomit again; and the sow that was washed to her wallowing in the mire.
As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man There are only four things certain since Social Progress began: That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire, And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire.
Weary men, what reap ye?Golden corn for the stranger. What sow ye?Human corpses that wait for the avenger. Fainting forms, hunger stricken, what see ye in the offing? Stately ships to bear our food away, amid the stranger's scoffing. There's a proud array of soldierswhat do they round your door? They guard our master'sgranaries from the thin hands of the poor. Pale mothers, wherefore weeping? Would to God that we were dead Ourchildren swoon before us, and we cannot give them bread.
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