Y our guardsmen are like the swarming locust. Your marshals are like hordes of grasshoppers Settling in the stone walls on a cold day. The sun rises and they flee, And the place where they are is not known.
Thy crowned ones as a locust, And thy princes as great grasshoppers, That encamp in hedges in a day of cold, The sun hath risen, and it doth flee away, And not known is its place where they are.
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