Does it pain you, proud Procuratores,
These badges of bondage to bear?
In your youth were you greener than grass is,
And fearful of infinite fines,
Or casual, careless of classes,
Frequenters of wines?
Was it woe for a woman who jilted,
Or dread of your debts or a dun?
Or was it your nose was tip-tilted,
Or a frivolous fancy for fun?