Within their palaces of gold,
In silk stretched tight o'er glutt'nous girth,
The Wise and Rich of lin'age old
Hold council to discuss the earth.
The state of which, as told by some,
Is faithful, honest, good, and true,
Ignoring they who pound the drum;
Its notes to them nothing new.
Without, the trumpets scream and blare,
And shouts of hate as black as pitch
Join with the the drums. Within their lair,
The Wise speak lies at fevered pitch.
For e'en when foe encamps - destroys -
The Truth is worse than any noise.