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!