The Princess, then, must shift for herself,
And lay her royalty on the shelf;
She, and the beautiful empress yonder,
Whose robes are now the wide world’s wonder
And even ourselves, and our dear little wives,
Who calico wear each morn of their lives,
And the sewing-girls, and les chiffonniers,
In rags and hunger—a gaunt array—
And all the grooms of the caravan—
Aye, even the great Don Rataplan