The Road of Kings, by Robert E. Howard.
Gleaming shell of an outworn lie, fable of Right Divine.
You gained your crowns by heritage, but Blood was the price of mine.
The throne that I won by blood and sweat, by Crom, I will not sell
For promise of valleys filled with gold or threat of the Halls of Hell!
When I was a fighting man, the kettle-drums they beat.
The people scattered gold dust before my horse’s feet.
But now I am a great king; the people hound my track,
With poison in my wine cup, and daggers at my back.
What do I know of cultured ways; the gilt, the craft and the lie?
I, who was born in a naked land, and bred in the open sky?
The subtle tongue, the sophist guile; they fail when the broadswords sing.
Rush in and die, dogs — I was a man before I was a king…