Three fair maidens, late one night, Sat and spun by candlelight. "Were our tsar to marry me," Said the eldest of the three, "I would cook and I would bake -Oh, what royal feasts I'd make." Said the second of the three: "Were our tsar to marry me, I would weave a cloth of gold Fair and wondrous to behold."
With age, he grew less keen to fight, Desiring his deserved peace: Struggle should stop; war's clamour cease. His down-trod neighbours saw their chance, And armed with dagger, sword and lance, Attacked his frontiers at will, Making the old Tsar maintain still An army of twelve thousand men, With horses, weaponry, and then Appoint highly-paid generals To guard the kingdom's threatened walls.