Our throats are tuned. Come let's commence!
The holy Roman empire now, How holds it still together?
An ugly song! a song political! A song offensive! Thank God, every morn To
rule the Roman empire, that you were not born! I bless my stars at least that
mine is not Either a kaiser's or a chancellor's lot. Yet 'mong ourselves should
one still lord it o'er the rest; That we elect a pope I now suggest. Ye know,
what quality ensures A man's success, his rise secures.
Bear, lady nightingale above, Ten thousand greetings to my love.