Wat Tyler.

Wat Tyler.
I.
That was stalwart stroke Wat Tyler struck
Upon the brutal tax-collector’s head,
Who had to Brentford town been cause of dread:
Had every tool of tyranny such luck,
’T would be a blessing to the human race. 5
There was one villain less when he fell dead,
And the poor Serfs who for their tyrants bled
In many a useless battle, rose apace
To fight for their own rights. True, much excess
Attended their uprising. Such is sure 10
With all who long oppression may endure;
For Liberty alone can people bless
With peace, security, regard for law,
And all the blessings which the world e’en saw.
II.

Rough though their mode, our Serfs for freedom fought; 15
And brute violence they used no more
Than those who then an iron sceptre bore
To smite their fellows who mere justice sought.
Hate begets Hate, and they who first did wrong
Were guilty of the bloodshed that ensures. 20
We live in happier days; what the Serfs sued
For then, has long been won, though slavish song
Has sung the tyrants with vile lying praise;
And few have dared the victims to affront
Of sympathy or justice one true word. 25
The time has surely come when we should raise
Our voices for the truth, and now proclaim
Richard and Walworth names of everlasting shame.

George Markham Tweddell
[Rhymes in M/S, notional p. 54-55]

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