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Lest yonder songster my high speech deride,
Or call a usurpation of his staves,
I do refrain form poet's lofty place,
I speak but as a gentleman's envoy,
A knight's forerunner now without a knight,
Just as in camps, or armaments, or siege
The heralds trumpet to a crimson sky,
And vaunt their masters' fame in "poesy".
Alas that to base rhyme I now resort!
Forgive me minstrel-'twould disgrace a court.
Now, butcher, miner, all ye peasants stout
What think ye of the murderer about?
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Among the friendly dead, being bad at games did not seem to matter
-Il Lupo Fenriso
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