The tree's there, You Swine!

Did you think to get in

At the back, while your friends

Made a little diversion

In front? So it ends,

With your sword clattering down

On the ground.‘ Tis amends

I make for your courteous

Reception of me,

A foreigner, landed

From over the sea.

Your welcome was fervent

I think you'll agree.

My shoes are not buckled

With gold, nor my hair

Oiled and scented, my jacket's

Not satin, I wear

Corded breeches, wide hats,

And I make people stare!

So I do, but my heart

Is the heart of a man,

And my thoughts cannot twirl

In the limited span

‘ Twixt my head and my heels,

As some other men's can.

I have business more strange

Than the shape of my boots,

And my interests range

From the sky, to the roots

Of this dung-hill you live in,

You half-rotted shoots

Of a mouldering tree!

Here's at you, once more.

You Apes! You Jack-fools!

You can show me the door,

And jeer at my ways,

But you're pinked to the core.

And before I have done,

I will prick my name in

With the front of my steel,

And your lily-white skin

Shall be printed with me.

For I've come here to win!