Song For The Luddites

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  As the Liberty lads o'er the sea
Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood,
  So we, boys, we
  Will die fighting, or live free,
And down with all kings but King Ludd!

  When the web that we weave is complete,
And the shuttle exchanged for the sword,
  We will fling the winding sheet
  O'er the despot at our feet,
And dye it deep in the gore he has pour'd.

  Though black as his heart its hue,
Since his veins are corrupted to mud,
  Yet this is the dew
  Which the tree shall renew
Of Liberty, planted by Ludd!

December 1816.

© George Gordon Byron