O vestment of velvet and virtue,
O venomous victors of vice,
Who hurt men who never have hurt you,
Oh, calm, cruel, colder than ice;
Why wilfully wage ye this war? Is
Pure pity purged out of your breast?
O purse-prigging Procuratores,
O pitiless pest!
Do you dream of what was and no more is,
When fresher and freer than air?