In base-blood, spite of the People’s vote.
The medal gleaming on the breast!
With heigh! the red coins how they ring!
The Citizens clamour with eager zest,
Despite their hate of crown and king!
The bourgeois soul star-honours wants,
With heigh! the peacock-aping jay!
The hunger for honours finds singular haunts,
Their sale is a traffic that’s bound to pay.
I have served Princes, and, in my time, worn Imperial livery, but now I am in the Republic’s service.