who wonders what to do about the dreadful peasants who are revolting and insisting that they have no bread.
A dame like you has nought to worry
from scabby peasants at your gate:
their hands are numb, their eyes are blurry,
their hearts and minds are seventh-rate.
That they are hungry serves them well
for scrapping kale and craving bread.
So let them pound at your doorbell
there's nought to make you lose your head.
