The self-same winds of heaven as keenly parch ye?
Abundant is the earth—the Sire of all
Saw and pronounced that it was very good.
Look round: the vernal fields smile with new flowers,
The budding orchard perfumes the soft breeze,
And the green corn waves to the passing gale.
There is enough for all, but your proud baron
Stands up, and, arrogant of strength, exclaims,
‘I am a lord—by nature I am noble:
These fields are mine, for I was born to them,