Analysis of The Lay of the Laborer
Thomas Hood 1799 (London) – 1845 (London)
A spade! a rake! a hoe!
A pickaxe, or a bill!
A hook to reap, or a scythe to mow,
A flail, or what ye will—
And here's a ready hand
To ply the needful tool,
And skill'd enough, by lessons rough,
In Labor's rugged school.
To hedge, or dig the ditch,
To lop or fell the tree,
To lay the swarth on the sultry field,
Or plough the stubborn lea;
The harvest stack to bind,
The wheaten rick to thatch,
And never fear in my pouch to find
The tinder or the match.
To a flaming barn or farm
My fancies never roam;
The fire I yearn to kindle and burn
Is on the hearth of Home;
Where children huddle and crouch
Through dark long winter days,
Where starving children huddle and crouch,
To see the cheerful rays,
A-glowing on the haggard cheek,
And not in the haggard's blaze!
To Him who sends a drought
To parch the fields forlorn,
The rain to flood the meadows with mud,
The blight to blast the corn,
To Him I leave to guide
The bolt in its crooked path,
To strike the miser's rick, and show
The skies blood-red with wrath.
A spade! a rake! a hoe!
A pickaxe, or a bill!
A hook to reap, or a scythe to mow,
A flail, or what ye will—
The corn to thrash, or the hedge to plash,
The market-team to drive,
Or mend the fence by the cover side,
And leave the game alive.
Ay, only give me work,
And then you need not fear
That I shall snare his Worship's hare,
Or kill his Grace's deer;
Break into his lordship's house,
To steal the plate so rich;
Or leave the yeoman that had a purse
To welter in a ditch.
Wherever Nature needs,
Wherever Labor calls,
No job I'll shirk of the hardest work,
To shun the workhouse walls;
Where savage laws begrudge
The pauper babe its breath,
And doom a wife to a widow's life,
Before her partner's death.
My only claim is this,
With labor stiff and stark,
By lawful turn, my living to earn,
Between the light and dark;
My daily bread, and nightly bed,
My bacon, and drop of beer—
But all from the hand that holds the land,
And none from the overseer!
No parish money, or loaf,
No pauper badges for me,
A son of the soil, by right of toil
Entitled to my fee.
No alms I ask, give me my task:
Here are the arm, the leg,
The strength, the sinews of a Man,
To work, and not to beg.
Still one of Adam's heirs,
Though doom'd by chance of birth
To dress so mean, and to eat the lean
Instead of the fat of the earth;
To make such humble meals
As honest labor can,
A bone and a crust, with a grace to God,
And little thanks to man!
A spade! a rake! a hoe!
A pickaxe, or a bill!
A hook to reap, or a scythe to mow,
A flail, or what ye will—
Whatever the tool to ply,
Here is a willing drudge,
With muscle and limb, and woe to him
Who does their pay begrudge!
Who every weekly score
Docks labor's little mite,
Bestows on the poor at the temple door,
But robb'd them over night.
The very shilling he hoped to save,
As health and morals fail,
Shall visit me in the new Bastille,
The Spital, or the Gaol!
Scheme | ABABcdxd efxfghgh xijiklklxl xmxmnoao ABABepnp qrxrxexe xsqstuxu xvjvxrcx xfxfxwxw xyxyxxxx ABABxtxt z1 z1 xxbb |
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Poetic Form | |
Metre | 010101 01101 011110111 011111 010101 110101 01011101 010101 111101 111101 110110101 110101 010111 010111 010101111 010101 1010111 110101 0101111001 110111 1101001 111101 110101001 110101 01010101 010011 111101 110101 01110111 011101 111111 0101101 1101101 011111 010101 01101 011110111 011111 011110111 010111 110110101 010101 110111 011111 1111111 111101 101111 110111 110101101 110001 010101 010101 111110101 11011 110101 010111 010110101 010101 110111 110101 110111011 010101 11010101 1100111 111011101 01101010 1101011 1101011 011011111 010111 11111111 110101 0101101 110111 111101 111111 111101101 01101101 111101 110101 0100110111 010111 010101 01101 011110111 011111 100111 110101 110010111 111101 1100101 110101 0110110101 111101 010101111 110101 110100110 01101 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 2,908 |
Words | 583 |
Sentences | 27 |
Stanzas | 12 |
Stanza Lengths | 8, 8, 10, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8, 8 |
Lines Amount | 98 |
Letters per line (avg) | 22 |
Words per line (avg) | 6 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 183 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 48 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:59 min read
- 106 Views
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"The Lay of the Laborer" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 13 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/36697/the-lay-of-the-laborer>.
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