“Truly, boys, to be a god
Is not a happy station—
Brixen’s Jail[1], compared to this,
Would be a relaxation!”
When all on earth had quietened,
Exhausted from his yoke,
Late in the night, poor Perun
Sat down, to have a smoke.
Soon as he hauled his chibouk
And his tobacco bag,
As usual, Mistress Perun
Began to scold and nag.
“Quite well I heard the message—
The door was half ajar—
You’d sent with that policeman
To Vladimir, our Tsar.
“If you antagonize the Tsar,
I told you right along
You, with your opposition,
Are sure to get in wrong!
“To tell, whate’er is on your tongue
To everybody’s face,
Will make you many enemies
And bring you to disgrace.”
When one’s wife, in her fury
Rails, as but women can,
’Tis sure to drive one frantic
Be he god, or merely man.
- ↑ There the author spent four years as political prisoner.
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