A Rebuke
Excuse me, Mister, if I enter a gentle protestAbout the manner in which you comport yourselfWhen taking the air about the streets.For, looking at you, one would form the opinionThat you were a man of much worth and nobility,That you were high in officialdom,A councillor of the king or a learned judge,Or one whose piety and wisdomHad marked him out to sit above his fellow.
One would think thus to see the swinging arms,The slow protuberant belly sheathed in a vest of scarlet,And the gold chain of Albert, the great Consort;To see the haughty head, the portly mien,The solemn gait, and the complacency with which you view the world.
Don’t interrupt! I only wished to tell youThat your claim to the excessive esteem of your neighboursIs wholly without foundation.Do please remember, Mister, that that scarlet bellyWas acquired by the labours of little childrenWhom you employ to stick labels on bottles.