A piano, horse, railway shares,
A cellar of wine, new or old,
A house, and the clothes that he wears.
Everything he may sell, or may buy,
That is purchased by wealth or by toil;
But he mustn't own—no matter why—
A single square yard of the soil.
He this who from Hodge, its true owner, perverts,
Is a brigand, and merits a brigand's deserts!
This park that around you you see,