A witty man in a tavern spoke with a tongue untamed:
‘The ruler of our state is a beggar unashamed;
How many go bare-headed to deck him with a crown?
How many go naked to supply his golden gown?
The blood of the poor turns into his red wine;
And they starve so that he may in luxury dine.
The epicure’s table is loaded with delights,
Stolen from the needy, stripped of all their rights.
He is a beggar who begs money, be it large or small,
Kings with royal pomp and pride, in fact, are beggars all.’