What? do you say that we, the toilers — the slaves —
( Why strain at the gnat name
Who swallow the camel thing your pocket craves? ) —
That we are “just the same,”
( Nay, worse ) when power is ours and wealth — that we
Are harder masters still,
More keen to ring her last from misery,
More greedy of our will?
‘ Tis true! And when you see men so — see us
Sneer at us, call us swine!—
“How we must love you who have made us thus,
You may perhaps divine!”