This gang, these predatory geeks has got a false idea, That they and are Romanians, Rome proud descendants.
… Here what years knew летописцы and рапсоды,
And today a century buffoons and юроды … correct
And a pettiness рядится in a toga of a name sacred,
And on a dirt and platitude put test of a century gold …
It is not enough, whether that, phrasemongers, пустомель in a cardboard armour,
Which it is noisy the crowd of swindlers inveterate claps?
There are no clowns from the higher nobility, dancing, as on a rope,
Or dolls балаганных in the state chamber?
Наплетут such байки about the people and Fatherland,
That not for long and to believe in sanctity of their crystal life,
And to present it is impossible, that the infallible knight
At the speeches itself stealthily mocks …
And such rabble operates us smartly,
Meanwhile as in vain are empty in a cot madhouse.
Those who, in effect, is worthy only a strait jacket,
Philosophies learn us, strewing magnificent words of a piece of glass,
Both laws state, and taxes impose,
And, each other taking for a throat, to virtue appeal.
Patriots! Patriarchs of a constituent feeding trough,
Where bribability impregnates everyone, from heels to top,
Where hypocrites piously doze, sitting in sleepy a smoke,
Also meets a thunder of an applause of the power mean grimaces …
This gang, these predatory geeks has got a false idea,
That they also are Romanians, Rome proud descendants.
This scum of lie and poison, these common people and this pus -
Sovereign lords over people and over the country …
Everything, that all is greedy and корыстно, all derelicts, илоты -
All were flied on extraction, all have got in patriots!
The boor гнусливый and зобатый, the rascal and the seducer,
Фалалей tongue-tied - here my earth the master!
It you are descendants of Rome? You, скопцы with soul noxious?
And people - that you to mankind to name shameful!
Истаскались you to term, a head dust have hammered,
And not wisdom in your souls - a trite waltz from the Ball-mobile …
And a garter of the secular whore instead of all treasures of the world …
How with you not to admire, the offspring of valorous Rome?!
And now, meeting in fear a look our steadfastly-cold,
You do not believe, that your shifts are fruitless,
That behind each magnificent phrase we accustomed to a deceit,
Immediately we feel spirit trading idleness and a profit.
And, when we do not wish you to accompany in performance,
We in it are guilty, my misters, whether not so?...