He that had palaces of gold,
And brilliant cities, fortress-bound,
Hath left behind his wealth untold,
And lies beneath the sodden ground.
Who loved to quaff the spicy wine,
And spent his life in ribaldry,
I saw him like a swollen swine,—
loathsome corpse, unsavoury.
The man that rode an arch-necked steed
And flashed his sword around to slay,