Duke! Duke of Alba, Duke of Blood,
Behold the stalls and the shops, they are closed.
Brewers and bakers, grocers and butchers,
Refuse one and all to do business for nothing.
When you pass who’ll salute you?
None. Do you feel, then, the pestilent mist
Of hate and scorn closing around you?
For the fair land of Flanders,
The gay land of Brabant,
Now are sad as a churchyard.