My ancestors' blood-rusted swords are hung
Fix'd on the wall, there mould'ring on high;
Blurred are the blades, but that is nought to me,
For a Hungarian nobleman am I!
Life is to me most sweet, and smoothly flows,
In idleness the lazy hours crawl by.
Labour is for the peasant, not for me,
For a Hungarian nobleman am I!
Serf, 'neath my chariot make the roadway smooth,
Let me no ruts or ridges there descry:
Upon the ground my foot I cannot set,
For a Hungarian nobleman am I!
Should I to learning bend my languid thoughts?
Nay, scholars starve, in misery they die.
I will not learn the art to read and write,
For a Hungarian nobleman am I!
But yet in one great art I do excel,
And my supremacy none can deny;
The art of eating and of drinking well,
For a Hungarian nobleman am I!
The yearly tax I do not have to pay,
And not extensive is my property:
In debts, however, I am passing rich,
For a Hungarian nobleman am I!
What care I for my suffering fatherland?
Hungary's woes will vanish by and by;
To serve her 'tis not I will lift a hand,
For a Hungarian nobleman am I!
When I have idly smoked my life away,
And shall in my ancestral castle die,
Angels will bear my soul to heaven straight,
For a Hungarian nobleman am I!
Sándor Petőfi.