We have said of the Sickness—"Where is it?"—and of Death—"It is far from our ken,"—
We have paid a particular visit to the affluent children of men.
We have trodden the mart and the well-curb—we have stooped to the bield and the byre;
And the King may the forces of Hell curb—for the People have all they desire!
Castanets and step-dance:
Oh, the dom and the mag and the thakur and the thag,
And the nat and the brinjaree,
And the bunnia and the ryot are as happy and as quiet
And as plump as they can be!
Yes, the jain and the jat in his stucco-fronted hut,
And the bounding bazugar,
By the favour of the King, are as fat as anything,
They are—they are—they are!
How beautiful upon the mountains—in peace reclining,