Like a mean trader, but for half a plum;
His Lady’s wardrobe was apprised so high
At his own sale, that nobody would buy!—
“But she is gone,” he cries, “and never saw
The spoil and havoc of our cruel law; 130
My steeds, our chariot that so roll’d along,
Admired of all! they sold them for a song.
You all can witness what my purse could do;
And now I wear a badge like one of you,
Who in my service had been proud to live—