Royal Converse

The king from the queen an answer craves; “How shall we now employ our slaves?” The maidens in fine embroidery, The widows shall spin flax-yarn for me, And the men shall dig in the fields for thee.

The king from the queen an answer craves; “How shall we, lady, feed our slaves?” The maidens shall have the honey-comb sweet, The widows shall feed on the finest wheat, And the men of maize-meal bread shall eat.

The king from the queen an answer craves; “Where for the night shall rest our slaves?” The maidens shall sleep in the chambers high, The widows on mattress’d beds shall lie, And the men on nettles under the sky.