The Sun Over Breda

You scatter judgments like grain tossed to geese,selling the law you do not comprehend,dispensing only what brings you gold, and

coveting, more than Jason, the Golden Fleece.

Both rights divine and those of mortal manin your interpretation are debased,

and whether you are cruel, or affect grace,each sentence is shrewdly tailored to your plan

Plaints of the poor you coldly set asideLending your ear only to he who pays:personal gain, not rule of law, your guide.

And as your greed cannot be mollified,either wash your hands, as Pilate did,or hang like Judas, with coins but vilified.