Tares sowed in ignorance
Now spawn a bitter crop,
Ripe unto the harvest-
That somehow must be stopped.

Lest we reap the whirlwind
Bearing now upon us fast,
Forced to take the hemlock cup
For perceived sins of the past.

To stop the little foxes,
Seems justified thinks he,
From spoiling a few grapes,
To uproot the vinery.

With Four and thirty magpies,
Green peas in a pod,
Those answer to no one
Except their foreign god.

And number if you can,
Scoundrels that now rule,
Yes sir yes sir there
Are three houses full.

One house for the master,
One for the dizzy dame,
And one for that idiot
Who presides down the lane.