The Escape

We watched you building, stone by stone, The well-washed cells and well-washed graves We shall inhabit but not own When Britons ever shall be slaves; The water's waiting in the trough, The tame oats sown are portioned free, There is Enough, and just Enough, And all is ready now but we. 3But you have not caught us yet, my lords, 3You have us still to get. 3A sorry army you'd have got, 3Its flags are rags that float and rot, 3Its drums are empty pan and pot, 3Its baggage is—an empty cot; 3But you have not caught us yet. A little; and we might have slipped— When came your rumours and your sales And the foiled rich men, feeble-lipped, Said and unsaid their sorry tales; Great God! It needs a bolder brow To keep ten sheep inside a pen, And we are sheep no longer now; You are but Masters. We are Men. 3We give you all good thanks, my lords, 3We buy at easy price; 3Thanks for the thousands that you stole, 3The bribes by wire, the bets on coal, 3The knowledge of that naked whole 3That hath delivered our flesh and soul 3Out of your Paradise. We had held safe your parks; but when Men taunted you with bribe and fee, We only saw the Lord of Men Grin like an Ape and climb a tree; And humbly had we stood without Your princely barns; did we not see In pointed faces peering out What Rats now own the granary. 3It is too late, too late, my lords, 3We give you back your grace: 3You cannot with all cajoling 3Make the wet ditch, or winds that sting, 3Lost pride, or the pawned wedding rings, 3Or drink or Death a blacker thing 3Than a smile upon your face.