Do we really need to scrape and bow, to tug the forelock
Before Liz Windsor, and all the rest
Of her unillustrious line?
Should we not assert the old claims of the Diggers?
Against Kingly Power, for England to be
A free common-wealth, not of imperialism and slavery
But wealth in the hands of the many
Not given by divine providence
To a handful of upper-class scroungers attended on hand-and-foot.
I don’t desire to dine on delicacies of Quails Eggs or Langoustines
Washed down with gallons of Pol Roger Reserve Brut Champagne.
I have nothing in common with toffs who sit on thrones,
Who glide about the country in a Royal Train or get helicopter rides for free.
I did not celebrate sixty years of the Windsors scrounging on state handouts.
We are the ones who paid for the Queen to float down a barge on the Thames like a duck
To be honest, I couldn’t give a toss, what Kate was wearing, her designer frock.
The rest of us have to work to survive.
Or abase ourselves at the job centre every fortnight to receive our pittance.
We no longer have to pay tithes to the lord of the manor,
But we still pay through the nose to keep Her Maj
In the style to which she is accustomed
And uphold the tradition of the divine right of kings
Which should have been buried long ago
By the Diggers and Levellers who stood up for their rights
To plough and sow and govern themselves.