Mendicancy

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.”