And sleep scarce shelter’d from the cold night wind:
While your wild projects wrest the little from us
Which might have cheered the wintry hour of age:
The parliament for ever asks more money:
We toil and sweat for money for your taxes;
Where is the benefit, what food reap we
From all the councils of your government?
Think you that we should quarrel with the French?
What boots to us your victories, your glory?
We pay, we fight, you profit at your ease.