A cow, a pig, the feather'd brood,
The cot which on the common stood,
The scythe and sickle, flail and spade,
Brought Hodge and family their bread.

When his kind stars these aids afford,
Hodge is as happy as his Lord.
He felt no want; was blithe as May;
Cattle or wife ne'er went astray.

But now the commons are inclos'd;
His fav'rite stock to sale expos'd;
His cow, his calf, his pig, are gone;
His sheep are 'kill'd off' ev'ry one.
His flail, scythe, sickle, and his spade,
Could not supply his cot with bread.

Hunger no fear of law descries;
'No fear of God before his eyes'--
He stole a goose, by famine led,
From that spot where his own had fed,
For where's the man who'd had the use
Of goose, could ever give up goose?

Now, to the Justice brought in haste;
That Justice who'd inclos'd the waste;
His worship in a passion flew
In silence Hodge a long face drew--
'A halter, Sirrah, you'll not miss,
For perpetrating crimes like this.'

Hodge droop'd his head, and heav'd a sigh;
Then meekly utter'd this reply--
'The crime is small in man or woman,
Should they a goose steal from a common;
But what can plead that man's excuse
Who steals a common from a goose?'