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Watching are all his scouts and spies, doganiers, police,—
Sixty thousand men are watching, with a new-cleaned gun a-piece.
Therefore all hath he that watching gives:—from his Palace set on high
He gazes;—all is safe, his own, betwixt the earth and sky.
His pennies come in punctually;—soft flatteries plump his throne;
Says the Ancient (lying meekly), "What is mine, Sire, is your own!"
Says the lusty-lying Younker, "Sire, I kiss my bride to-night,
That your Majesty may never lack defenders of your right!"
But the Ancient, going home, flings his stars upon the ground,
Groaning, "Will the wheel of Freedom never more turn round?
Hither, steward!—drain the vineyard, and never spare the land,
Gold, gold is of no country, get gold you understand!"
Through the banker's silent fingers see the golden streamlet glance,
To fat the sluggard English clays, or arid sands of France.
