Who are these, obsequious fools
Lickspittles drawing e’er near
To the flames of power, but fulfilled
By a moment in diadem’s glare?
“To arms!” they cry – to all but they
For what good is slavish applause
If spent upon a battlefield –
What then for Caesar’s next cause?
Oh mighty lambs, lust for war!
Heedless of misery and pain
Lust for him who makes it so
Suckle the breast of the vain