He used to tramp off to his work while town folk were abed,
With nothing in his belly but a slice or two of bread;
He dined upon potatoes, and he never dreamed of meat
Except a lump of bacon fat sometimes by way of treat.
Agricultural Labourers’ Union Ballad1
The cottage homes of England,
By thousands on her plains,
They are smiling o’er the silvery brook
And round the hamlet fanes.
From glowing orchards forth they peep,
Each from its nook of leaves.
And fearless there the lowly sleep
As the birds beneath ...