Gleaming shell of an outworn; fable of Right divine-
You gained your crowns by heritagr, but Blood was price of mine.
The throne I won by blood and sweat, by Crom , I will not sell.
For promise of valleys filled with gold, or threat of the Halls of Hell!

When I was a fighting-man the kettledrums they bear,
The people scattered gold-dust before my hirse's feet;
But now I am a great king, the people hound my track
With poision in my wine-cup, and daggers at my back.

What do I know of cultured ways, the gilt, and the craft and the lie?
I, who was born in a naked land and and bred in the open sky.
The subtle tounge , the sopist guile, they fail when the broadswords sing;
Rush in and die dogs -_- I was a man before I was a king.



Robert E. Howard

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