And says: "Dear editor,

"Since write you must, in prose or rhyme,
Expose my master's knavery,
Condemn, I pray, the slavery
That dominates our time.

"I labor for a wicked man
Who holds o'er all my being sway,--
Who keeps me harnessed night and day.
Since work I first began.

"No leisure moments do I store,
Yet harsh words only will he speak;
My days are his, from week to week,
But still he cries for more.

"Oh print, I beg you, all I've said,
And ask the world if this be right:
To give the worker wage so slight
That he must want for bread.

"See, I have sinews powerful,
And I've endurance, subtle skill,--
Yet may not use them at my will,
But live a master's tool.

"But oh, without avail do I
Lay bare the woes of workingmen!
Who earns his living by the pen,