We're low - we're low - mere rabble, we know But, at our plastic power, The mould at the lording's feet will grow Into palace and church and tower Then prostrate fall - in the rich man's hall, And cringe at the rich man's door; We're not too low to build the wall, But too low to tread the floor. Down, down we go - we're so very low, To the hell of the deep sunk mines, But we gather the proudest gems that glow, When the crown of a despot shines. And whenever he lacks - upon our backs Fresh loads he designs to lay; We're far too low to vote the tax, But not too low to pay. We're low - we're low - we're very very low, Yet from our fingers glide The silken flow - and the robes that glow Round the limbs of the sons of pride. And what we get - and what we give - We know, and we know our share; We're not too low the cloth to weave, But too low the cloth to wear!