 A Knee Grows Complaint by William Cowper Red for LibriVox.org by Adrienne Stevens Forced from home and all its pleasures, Africa's coast I left for lawn, To increase a stranger's treasures, O'er the raging billows borne. Men from England bought and sold me, Paid my price in paltry gold, But though slave they have enrolled me, Mines are never to be sold. Women in thought as free as ever. What are England's rights, I ask? Me from my delights to sever, Me to torture, me to task. Fleecy locks and black complexion Cannot forfeit nature's claim. Skins may differ, But affection dwells in white and black the same. Why did all creating nature Make the plant for which we toil? Size must fannet, tears must water, Sweat of hours must dress the soil, Think, ye masters, iron-hearted, Lolling at your jovial boards, Think how many backs have smarted, For the sweets your cane affords. Is there, has he sometimes tell us, Is there one who reigns on high, Has he bid you by and sell us, Speaking from his throne the sky? Ask him if your knotted scourges, Matches, blood-extorting screws Are the means that duty urges Agents of his will to use. Cuck, he answers wild tornadoes, Stewing yonder sea with wrecks, Wasting towns, plantations, meadows, Are the voice with which he speaks. He, for seeing what vexations Afric sun should undergo, Fix their tyrants' habitations Where his whirlwinds answer, no. Buy our blood in Afric wasted, Air our necks receive the chain By the miseries that we tasted, Crossing in your bucks the main, Buy our suffering since he brought us To the man-degrading mart, All sustained by patience taught us Only by a broken heart. Deem our nation brutes no longer, Till some reason ye shall find Worthier of regard and stronger Than the colour of our kind. The slaves of gold whose sordid dealings Tarnish all your boasted powers Prove that you have human feelings, Air you proudly question ours. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Negroes Complaint by William Cooper. Read for LibriVox.org by Bruce Gachuck. Forced from home and all its pleasures, Afric's coast I left for Lorne To increase a stranger's treasures, Or the raging bellows born. Men from England bought and sold me, Paid my price in paltry gold, But those slaves they have enrolled me, Mines are never to be sold. Still in thought as free as ever. What are England's rights, I ask? Me from my delights to sever, Me to torture, me to task. Fleecy locks and black complexion Cannot forfeit nature's claim. Skins may differ, but affection Dwells in white and black the same. Why did all creating nature Make the plant for which we toil? Size must fannet, tears must water, Sweat of ours must dress the soil. Think ye masters, iron-hearted, Lulling at your jovial boards. Think how many backs have smarted, For the sweets your cane affords. Is there, as ye sometimes tell us, Is there one who reigns on high? Has he bid you by and sell us, Speaking from his throne the sky? Ask him if your knotted scourges, Matches, blood-extorting screws, Or the means that duty urges, Agents of his will to use. Hark, he answers, wild tornadoes, Strewing yonder sea with wrecks, Wasting towns, plantations, meadows, Or the voice with which he speaks. He, foreseeing what vexations Afric's sons should undergo, Fixed their tyrants' habitations, Where his whirlwinds answer, no. By our blood in Afric wasted, ere our necks received the chain, By the miseries that we tasted, Crossing in your barks the main, By our suffering, since ye brought us, To the man-degrading mart. All sustained by patience taught us, Only by a broken heart. Demarnation broods no longer, Till some reason ye shall find, Worthier of regard and stronger Than the color of our kind. Slaves of gold whose sordid dealings Tarnish all your boasted powers, Prove that you have human feelings, ere you proudly question ours. The Negros Complaint by William Cooper Read for LibriVox.org by Newgate Novelist Forced from home and all its pleasures, Afric's coast I left for lawn, To increase a stranger's treasures, Are the raging billows born, Men from England bought and sold me, Paid my price in poultry gold. But, though slave they have enrolled me, Mines are never to be sold. Still in thought as free as ever, What are England's rights, I ask, Me from my delights to sever, Me to torture, me to task? Fleecy locks and black complexion Cannot forfeit nature's claim? Things may differ, but affection Dwells in white and black the same. Why did all creating nature Make the plant for which we toil? Size must fannet, tears must water, Sweater vows must dress the soil. Think ye masters, iron-hearted, Lolling at your jovial boards, Think how many backs have smarted For the sweets your cane affords? Is there, as ye sometimes tell us, Is there one who reigns on high? Has he bid you by and sell us, Speaking from his throne the sky? Ask him if your knotted scourges, Matches, blood-extorting screws Are the means that duty urges, Patience of his will to use. Hark! he answers wild tornadoes, Strewing yonder sea with wrecks, Wasting towns, plantations, meadows, Are the voice with which he speaks. He, foreseeing what vexations Afric's sons should undergo, Fixed their tyrants' habitations, Where his whirlwinds answer no. By our blood in Afric wasted, ere our necks received the chain, By the miseries that we tasted Crossing in your barks the main, By our suffering since you brought us To the mandigrading mart, All sustained by patience Taught us only by a broken heart. Deem our nation brutes no longer, Till some reason ye shall find Worthier of regard and stronger Than the colour of our kind. Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings Tarnish all your boasted powers, Prove that you have human feelings, ere you proudly question ours. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Negroes' Complaint by William Cooper, Read for LibriVox.org by Florence Short. Forced from home and all its pleasures, Afric's coast I left for long, To increase a stranger's treasures, Or the raging billows born, Men from England bought and sold me, Paid my price in paltry gold, But though slave they have enrolled me, Mines are never to be sold, Still in thought as free as ever. What are England's rights, I ask? Me, from my delights to sever, Me to torture, me to task, Fleecy locks and black complexion Cannot forfeit nature's claim, Skins may differ, But affection dwells in white and black the same. Why did all creating nature Make the plant for which we toil? Size must fan it, tears must water, Sweat of ours must dress the soil. Think, ye masters, iron-hearted, Lawling at your jovial boards, Think how many backs have smarted For the sweets your cane affords. Is there, as ye sometimes tell us, Is there one who reigns on high? Has he bid you by and sell us, Speaking from his throne the sky? Ask him, if your knotted scourges, Matches blood extorting, Screws are the means that duty urges, Agents of his will to use. Hark, he answers while tornadoes, Strewing yonder sea with wrecks, Wasting towns, plantations, meadows, Are the voice with which he speaks. He, for seeing what vexations Afric sun should undergo, Fix their tyrants' habitations, Where his whirlwinds answer, no. By our blood in Afric wasted, Are our necks received the chain, By the miseries that we tasted, Crossing in your barks the mane, By our suffering since ye brought us To the man-degrading mart, All sustained by patience, Taught us only by a broken heart, Deem our nation brutes no longer, Till some reason ye shall find Worthier of regard, And stronger than the color of our kind. Slaves of gold, Whose sordid dealings tarnish All your boasted powers, Proof that you have human feelings, Are you proudly question ours? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Negroes Complaint by William Cooper Read for LibriVox.org by Graham Scott Cheltenham, England GrahamScottAudio.com Forced from home and all its pleasures, Afric's coast I left forlorn. To increase as strangers treasures All the raging billows borne, Men from England bought and sold me, Paid my price in paltry gold. But, though slave they have enrolled me, Mines are never to be sold. Still in thought as free as ever, What are England's rights, I ask, Me from my delights to sever, Me to torture, me to task. Fleecy locks and black complexion Cannot forfeit nature's claim. Skins may differ, But affection dwells in white and black the same. Why did all creating nature Make the plant for which we toil? Size must fannet, tears must water, Sweat of ours must dress the soil. Think ye, master's iron-hearted, Lolling at your jovial boards, Think how many backs have smarted, For the sweets your cane affords. Is there, as ye sometimes tell us, Is there one who reigns on high? Has he bid you by and sell us, Speaking from his throne the sky? Ask him if your knotted scourges, Matches, blood-extorting screws, Are the means that duty urges Agents of his will to use. Hark! he answers wild tornadoes Strewing yonder sea with wrecks, Wasting towns, plantations, meadows, Are the voice with which he speaks. He, foreseeing what vexation's Afric's sun should undergo, Fixed their tyrant's habitations, Where his whirlwind's answer no. By our blood in Afric wasted, Air our necks received the chain, By the miseries that we tasted, Crossing in your barks the main, By our suffering since ye brought us To the man-degrading mark, All sustained by patience, Taught us only by a broken heart. Deem our nation brutes no longer, Till some reason ye shall find Worthier of regard and stronger Than the colour of our kind. Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings Tarnish all your boasted powers, Prove that you have human feelings, Air you proudly question ours. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Negroes Complaint by William Copper Red for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson Forced from home and all its pleasures, Afric's coast I'd left forlorn, To increase a stranger's treasures, Or the raging billows borne, Men from England bought and sold me, Paid my price in paltry gold. But though slave they have enrolled me, Mines are never to be sold. Still in thought as free as ever, What are England's rights, I ask, Me from my delights to sever, Me to torture, me to task. Fleecy locks and black complexion Cannot forfeit nature's claim, Skins may differ, but affection dwells In white and black the same. Why did all creating nature Make the plant for which we toil? Size must fannot, tears must water, Sweat of ours must dress the soil. Think ye masters iron-hearted Lawling in your jovial boards, Think how many blacks have smarted, For the sweets your cane affords. Is there, as ye sometimes tell us, Is there one who reigns on high? Has he bid you buy and sell us, Speaking from his throne the sky? Ask him if your knotted scourges, Matches, blood-extorting screws, Are the means that duty urges Agents of his will to use. Hark! he answers wild tornadoes String yonder sea with wrecks. Wasting towns, plantations, meadows Are the voice with which he speaks. He foreseeing what vexations Afrik's sons should undergo, Fixed their tyrant's habitations, Where his whirlwinds answer no. By our blood in Afrik wasted, Are our necks received the chain, By the miseries that we tasted, Crossing in your barks the main. By our suffering, since you bought us To the man degrading mart, All sustained by patience taught us, Only by a broken heart. Deem our nation brutes no longer, Till some reason ye shall find Worthier of regard and stronger Than the color of our kind. Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings Tarnish all your boasted powers, Prove that you have human feelings, Air you proudly question ours. In the poem, this recording Is in the public domain. The Negroes Complaint, by William Copper Red for LibriVox.org By Mickey Lee Rich Forced from home and all its pleasures, Afrik's coast I left forlorn To increase a stranger's treasures Over the raging billows born. Men from England bought and sold me Paid my price in paltry gold, But those slaves they have enrolled me, Mines are never to be sold, Still in thought as free as ever, What are England's rights, I ask? Me from my delights to sever? Me to torture? Me to task? Fleecy locks and black complexion Cannot forfeit nature's claim, Skins may differ, but affection dwells In white and black the same. Why did all creating nature Make the plant for which we toil? Size must fan it, tears must water, Sweat of ours must dress the soil. Think, ye master's iron-hearted, Lowling at your jovial boards. Think how many blacks have smarted For the sweets your cane affords. Is there, as ye sometimes tell us, Is there one who reigns on high? Has he bid you buy and sell us? Speaking from his throne, the sky? Ask him if your knotted scourges Match his blood-extorting screws Are the means that duty urges Agents of his will to use. Hark, he answers wild tornadoes Strewing yonder sea with wrecks, Wasting towns, plantations, meadows, Are the voice with which he speaks. He, foreseeing what vexations Afrik's son should undergo, Fix their tyrant's habitations Where his whirlwinds answer no. By our blood in Afrik wasted, Air our necks received the chain By the miseries that we tasted Crossing in your barks the main By our suffering since ye brought us To the mandigrating mart, All sustained by patience, Taught us only by a broken heart. Deem our nation brutes no longer Till some reason ye shall find Worthier of regard and stronger Than the color of our kind. Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings Tarnish all your boasted powers, Prove that you have human feelings, Air you proudly question ours. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Negroes Complaint By William Cowper RedForLiberVox.org by Velma Karras Chico California, 2020 Forced from home and all its pleasures Afrik's coast I left for Lorne To increase a stranger's treasures Or the raging billows born. Men from England bought and sold me Paid my price in paltry gold, But those slave they have enrolled me Minds are never to be sold. Still in thought, as free as ever, What are England's rights, I ask? Me from my delights to sever, Me to torture, me to task? Fleecy locks and black complexion Cannot forfeit nature's claim. Skins may differ, but affection dwells And white and black the same. Why did all creating nature Make the plant for which we toil? Size must fan it, tears must water, Sweat of ours must dress the soil. Think ye masters, iron-hearted, Lawling at your jovial boards, Think how many backs have smarted For the sweets your cane affords. Is there, as ye sometimes tell us, Is there one who reigns on high? Has he bid you by and sell us, Speaking from his throne the sky? Ask him if your knotted scourges, Matches, blood-extorting screws Are the means that duty urges Agents of his will to use. Hark! he answers, Wild tornadoes, Strewing yonder sea with wrecks, Wasting towns, plantations, and meadows Are the voice with which he speaks. He, foreseeing what vexations Afric's son should undergo, Fix their tyrant's habitations Where his whirlwind's answer, no. By our blood in Afric wasted, Air our necks received the chain. By the miseries that we tasted Crossing in your barks the main. By our suffering ye brought us To the man-degrading mart. All, sustained by patience, Taught us only by a broken heart. Deem our nation brutes no longer, Till some reason ye should find Worthier of regard and stronger Than the color of our kind. Slaves of gold, who's sordid dealings Tarnish all your boasted powers, Prove that you have human feelings, Air you proudly question ours. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.