O cruel, treacherous, of little worth,
Conspirators and tyrants are ye all!
Ungrateful, grasping, low in breed and birth,
Ferocious, obstinate and rustical!
Lascivious, base, renowned through all the earth
For toiling hands whose bravery is small!
What glory hope ye from our death and doom,
While thus ye hold us in a living tomb?
Ye squadrons close, or single files that scour
The open field, where neither ditch nor wall