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The Stanfields
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Lady Argyle
The yoke of pride, so many times
Has fallen on the best of us
The yoke of pride, so many times
Has burdened us who dwell in charity
Why, you ask, not break the chains?
T'is hard enough contending with
The downward eyes of passer-bys
No hearth, no home, no love, no dignity
Lo, yet one more decry
From an infamous throne such as mine
Vile and stable
In a wondrous and slow decline
The rain still must fall
On a wanderer of such likeness.
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Fortune is a beggars bane
Yet the stain blights us all
More so who thus deny it.
Fortune is a beggars bane
Now I'm a rogue in your eyes
But I once was a yeoman who shined
With a place at the table
With laymen and lords alike
Now I find myself in the mire
Of a world still unfolding itself
Vile and stable
In a wondrous and slow decline
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