Сила есть Право

Одни убивают мечом и другие тоже.
Одни не продумывают свою битву,
Другие ранят ядом нежных слов.
Каждый делает то, что умеет лучшее всего,
И каждый получает то, чего он может добиться —
Большое богатство, долгую любовь или славу.
Победитель получает заслуженную награду,
А побеждённый — позор.
Слабые носят терновый венец
Или скулят в аду своей жизни,
Сильный коронует себя золотом,
И весь мир — кладезь для него.
Каждый человек получает то, что теряют другие,
Что толку вопрошать о причинах сего.
Каждый ставит пяту на поверженных врагов
Любовью, законом или ложью.[445]

Labor Song or Hear Tigers Snarl / Песнь труда, или Услышьте рычание тигра

Above the Senates brawl — the maddening roar for gain,
Do you hear the Christmas Carol — the felons clanking chains,
Behind yon prison walls, your leg-ironed comrade slaves,
While here in marble walls are harlots, knights and knaves.

Your comrades rot in goal — the hungry cry for bread,

Your wives are thin and pale, their hearts are filled with dread,
And earth resounds with praise in holy, heavenly tones,
While tigers prowl the land to crush your children's bones.

Ho! Men of New South Wales, Hark! hear the fetters clink!

Are you but eunuch-churls that only scream and slink?
If you were virile men, you'd raise your strong right arm,
Beard tigers in their den to guard your mates from harm.

You live the life of dogs, you tug and scat and strain,

Your back the slaver flogs while raking in his gain;
You see your sisters starve, you see them on the marts,
You hear the tigers snarl while rending out their hearts.

O men of New South Wales, behold your ruffian horde,

Who spurn you with their hoof, and bash you with the sword;
Behold the butcher band that shear and tan your hide.
Have you not grit to stand and tame their wolfish pride?

You rise to voice your wrongs, they club you for your pains,

Wheel out their murderous guns to scatter, splash your brains;
They steal your public lands, they steal the cash you earn,
Ho! Cringe to their commands, you're only dogs not men.

In glittering halls they feast — harlots, knights and knaves —

While inside prison walls your leg-ironed comrade slaves.
Ho! Men of New South Wales, Hark! hear the fetters clink!
Are ye but eunuch-slaves, that only scream and slink?