The Helmett now an hive for Bees becomes,
And hilts of swords may serve for Spiders’ loomes;
Sharp pikes may make
Teeth for a rake;
And the keene blade, th’arch enemy of life,
Shall bee digraded to a pruneing knife.
The rusticke spade
Which first was made
For honest agriculture, shall retake
Its primitive imployment, and forsake
The rampire’s steep
And trenches deep.
Tame conyes in our brazen gunnes shall breed,
Or gentle Doves their young ones there shall feede.
In musket barrells
Mice shall raise quarrells
For their quarters. The ventriloquious drumme
Like Lawyers in vacations shall be dumme.
Now all recrutes,
(But those of fruites),
Shall bee forgott; and th’unarm’d Soldier
Shall onely boast of what Hee did whilere,
In chimneys’ ends
Among his freinds.
If good effects shall happy signes ensue,
I shall rejoyce, and my prediction’s true.
Ralph Knevet, 1601-1671 – “The Vote” from The Penguin Book of English Verse
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