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Charles Godfrey Leland.

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Ja - niet kan beter zyn.
Niet is soeter as de minne,
It smackt nog beter als wijn.
Es giebt nichts wie die Mädchen,
Es gibt nichts wie das Bier,
Wer liebt nicht alle beide,
Wird gar kein Cavalier.

O vot ve vant to quickest come
Ish dat vot's soonest gone.
Dis life ish boot a passin from
de efer-gomin-on.
De gloser dat ve looks ad id,
De shmaller it ish grow;
Who goats und spurs mit lofe und wein,
He makes it fastest go.


GERMANY.

- - -

BREITMANN AM RHEIN - COLOGNE.

HOW wunderschön das Vaterland
In audumn-life abbears;
Vot rainpows gild ids vallies crand,
Ven seen troo vallin tears.
Und VON I'll creet mit sang und klang,
Und drown in goldnen wein;
Old Deutschland's cot her sohn again:
Hans Breitmann's on der Rhein.

Und doughts ish schwell dat mighdy heart,
Too awfool for make known;
Ven dey shunt him from de railroat car
Und tropped him in Cologne.
De holy towers of de dome
Cleam, twilicht-veiled, afar;
Und like some lonely bilgrim's pipe,
Dim shines de efenin star.

Hans look to find his baggage check,
Und see dat all ish shdraighdts,
Denn toorn him to de city toors,
"Mein nadife land - wie gehts?"
Boot dat's vot all who read may run-
Fool blainly armies write;
Id's ofer all half Shermany,
Set down in Black and White.

Oh, Black and White! O Weiss and Schwarz!
Vot dings ish dis to see?
I vonder vot in future years
Your mission ish to pe?
Also in crate America
We had soosh colors too!
Die Färb' sind mir nicht unbekannt[63]-
Id's shoost tout comme chez nous.

Next tay to de Cathedral
He vent de dings to view,
Und found it shoost drei thaler cost
To see de sighds all troo.
"Id's tear," said Hans; "boot go ahet,
I'fe cot de cash all right;
Boot id's queer dat's only Protestands
Vot mosdly see de sighdt!

"Im Mittelalter I hafe read
De shoorsh vas alvays sure-
An open bicdure gallerie,
Und book for all de poor.
Boot now de dings is so arrange
No poor volk can get in;
We Yankees und de Englisch are
Pout all ash shbends de tin.

"I shmiles like Mephistopheles
In shoorshes ven I see
Poor Catholics vollerin round apout
To shdeal a sighdt - troo ME!
Dey peep und creep roundt chapel gates,
Boot soon kits trofe afay,
Dey gross demselfs, und make a brayer-
Boot den dey cannot bay!

"Dese Deutsche sacrisdans might learn
More goot in Italy,
Where beoples bays shoost half de brice,
For ten dimes more to see,
De volk vot dink I shbeak sefere
Apout dese Küster vays,
May read vot Mr. Bädeker
In his Belgine Hand Buch says."

Und valkin oop und town de down
Von ding vas shdill de same:
Shoost ash of oldt he saw de shpread
Of Jean Farina's name.
He find it nort', he find it sout',
He find it eferyvhere;
Dere vas no house in all Cologne
Boot J. M. F. vas dere.[64]

De best Cologne in all Cologne
I'll shwear for cerdain sure,
Ish maket in de Jülichsplatz
Und dat at Numero Four.
Boot of dis Cologne in Jülichsplatz
Let dis pe understood,
Dat some of id ish foorst-rate pad,
Vhile some is foorst-rate good.

Boot von ding drafellers moost opserve,
Dis treadful trut I dells,
Fast ash dis Farinaceous crowd
So vast hafe grown the schmells-
Dose awfool schmells in gass' und strass'
Vitch mofe crate Coleridge squalm:
If so he wrote, vot vouldt he write
Apout dem now, py tam?

Of all de schmells I efer schmelt,
Py gutter, sink, or well,
At efery gorner of Cologne
Dere's von can peat dat schmell.
Vhen dere you go you'll find it so,
Don't dake de ding on troost;
De meanest skunk in Yankee land
Vould die dere of disgoost.

Boot noding dinked der Breitmann
Of schmutz or idle schein,
Vhen he sat in Abendämmerung
Und looket owd on der Rhein
Im goldnen gleam - vhile pealin far
Rang shlow, shveet kloster bells,
Und in de dim, plue peaudiful,
Rose distant Drachenfels.

Dey trinket lieb Liebfrauenmilch
So pure ash voman's trut';
De singed de songs of Shermany,
De songs of Breitmann's yout'.
De songs mit tears of vanished years,
Made peaudiful in wein.
Dus endet out de firster tay
Of Breitmann on der Rhein.


AM RHEIN. - No. II.

IM KAHN.

"Were diu werlt alle min,
Von deme mere unze an den Rin.
Des wolt ih mih darben,
Daz diu dame von Engellant
Lege an minen armen."
- Carmina Burana.

AM Rhein! Acain am Rheine!
In boat oopon der Rhein!
De castle-bergs soft goldnen
Im Abendsonnenschein,
Mit lots of Rudesheimer,
Und saitenklang und sang,
Und laties singin lieder,
Ash ve go sailin 'long.

Und von fair Englisch dame
Vas dere, so wunderscheen;
Vene'er der Breitmann saw her,
Id made his heartsen pain.
Oh, dose long-tailed veilchen Augen,
Vitch voke soosh hopes und fears,
Deir shape vas nod like almonds,
Boot more like fallin tears.

Und shpecdagles were o'er dem,
De glass of pince-nez kind,
In mercy to de beoples,
Less dey pe shdrucken blind.
Und gazin in dem glasses,
Reflected he pehold
De Rhine, mit all de shdeam-poats,
Und crags in Sonnengold.

De signs upon de bier-haus;
De gals a-washin close;
De wein-garts on de moundain,
Like heafenly shdairs in rows:
De banks, basaltic-paven,
Like bee-hife cells to view;
A donkey shtandin on dem,
Likevise her lofer too.

All dis oopon dos glasses
Vas blainly to pe seen;
One saw whate'er vas nodiced,
Py de schöne Engländrinn.
Boot oh! de fery lofe-most
Of all dat lofe-most pe
Her own plue veilchen Augen-
Herself she couldt not see.

So ist es in dis Leben;
For beaudy oft we spied,
Nor know de cratest peaudy
Ish in our soul inside.
Mein Gott! Vot himmlisch shplendor
Vas seen mitout an toubt,
If some crate bower supernal
Vas toorn oos insite out!

Und gazin long on Natur,
Und gazin long on Man,
Shdill all dings glite vorüber,
Ash since de vorldt pegan:
Ash in dat laity's glasses,
Ve see dem bassin py;
Yet veel a soul beneat' dem,
A schweet eternal eye.

O schöne Englisch maiden
Mit honey-colored hair,
Dat flows ash if a beinen korb
Had got oopsettet dere-
Und all de schweetness of your soul
Vas dripplin from your brain!
Oh shall I efer meet mit dir
Oopon dis eart' acain?

O Englisch engel maiden!
O schveet betaubend dofe!
O Rheinwein und cigarren!
O luncheon, mixed mit lofe!
O Drachenfels und Nonnenwerth!
O Liebeslust und pein!
Dus ents de second chapterlet
Of Breitmann on der Rhein.


AM RHEIN. - No. III.

NONNENWERTH.

(Alt Deutsch.)

HE shtood peside de Kloster-place,
Oopon de Rheinisch shore,
Und dere he saw a lofely face,
He'd seen in treams pefore.

"Feinslieb, und will'st dou go mit me?
Feinsllieb, make no delay;
For rocks ish shdeep und vales ish teep,
Und dings ish in de way."

"Und oh! how can I go mit dir,
Or flyen out of land?
Der bischof holts me py de law,
Der Rheingraf by der hand.

"Liebsherz, if dou could'st landwarts gehn,
I'd follow willingly;
Boot we are leafs, und shdrong's de shdem
Vitch pinds oos to de dree."

"Der briest who helt dee py de law
Ish now a broken man;
Der Rheingraf who vouldt marry dee
Ish in der Kaisar's ban.

"Und if de Kloster-beoples here
Vill shdop your goin to town,
Bei Gott! I'll burn von half of dem,
De oder half I'll trown!

"Denn linger not to back dy drunk,
Boot led our lofe hafe vings;
Dere's milliners in fair Cologne,
Vill make you avery dings."

She toorn her eyes im mondenschein,
She schmile so heafenly;
"Dear lofe, so shendle und so goot!
I'll cut away mit dee.

"Und do not killl de Kloster-volk,
'Tvouldt only bring tiscrace!
Dough if I had de abbess here,
Lort! how I'd slap her vace!"

De moonlighdt blayed oopon de drees,
It shined oopon de blain,
Two forms rode in de mitnight woods,
Und nefer coomed again.


MUNICH.

GAMBRINUS.

"Vot ish Art? Id ish somedings to drink, objectively
foregebrought in de Beaudiful. Doubtest dou? - denn read, ash
I hafe read, de Dyonisiacs of Nonnus, and learn dat de
oopboorstin of infinite worlds into edernal Light und mad goldnen
Lofeliness - yea of dein own soul - is typifide only py de
CUP.
Vot! - shdill skebdigal? Tell me denn, O dou of liddle fait,
vere on
eart ish de kunst obtain ids highest form if not in a
BIERSTADT?[65]
Ha! ha! I poke you dere!"
- Caupo Recauponatus, MS. by Fritz Swackenhammer,
olim
candidatus theologiæ at Tübingen, shoost now
lagerbierwirth in St.
Louis. (Dec. 1869.)

"Cerevisia bibunt homines
Animalia ceteræ fontes."

In a field of goldnen parley
Goot King Gambrinus shlept,
Und treamin' pout de dursty volk,
Dey say he gried und vept.
"In all mine land of Nederland,
Dere crows no mead or wein,
Und wasser I couldt nefer get
Indo dis troat of mein.

"Now hear me on, ye headen gotts!
Und all de Christian too;
Der Bacchus und der Shoopider,
Und Màrie tressed in plue!
Und mighdy Thor, der donner gott,
Und any else dat be!
Der von as helps me in dis Noth,
His serfant I will pe."

Und ash dis sinfull headen
All in de parley lay,
Dere coom in tream an angel
Who soft dese worts tid say:
"Stay oop, dou boor Gambrinus!
For efen all aroundt
Im parley vhere dou shleepest,
Some dings goot to trink ish found.

"Im parley vhere dou shleepest
Dere hides a trink so clear,
Dat men will know zukunftig-
Ash porter- ale- or bier."
Und denn in Nederlandisch
He put de könig troo,
Und gafe him - allwhile treaming-
De recipé to prew.

Oop rose der goot Gambrinus,
Und shook him in de sun:
"Go vay, ye sinfool headen gotts!
Mit you its out und done!
Ye'fe left me mit mine beoples
In error und in durst,
Till in our treadful tryness,
Ve tont know vitch is wurst."

Dat vas der goot Gambrinus
Oonto his palac't vent,
Und loafers troo de Nederland
To all his lordts he sent.
"Leave Odin - or you lose your hets!"
De order vas sefere,
Yet tinged mit mildness, for he sent
De recipé for bier.

O den a merry sound vas heardt
Of bildin troo de land,
Und de kirchen und de braweries
Vent oop on efery hand;
For de masons dey vere hart at vork,
Und trinkin hart at dat,
Und some hat bricks mitin de hods,
Und some mitin deir hat.

Dey prew it in de Nederland,
Dey prew it on de Rhine;
Boot in de oldt Bavarian land,
Dey make it shdrong und fein.
Und he dat trinks in Munich,
Ash all goot vellers know,
Has got somedings to dink apout,
Vherefer he may go.

II.

Hafe you heardt of Köng Gambrinus?
If you hafen't id vas gueer,
For he vas de first erfinder
Und de holy saint of bier.
Und his bortrait, mit a sceptre,
Fery peaudifool to see,
Hangs on afery lager-bier house,
In de land of Germanie.

Efery vhere de whole world ofer,
Deutschers paint him on de sign,
As a broof dat dey are dealin
In de Bok und Lager line.
Crown und bier-mug, robe und ermine;
German signs of empire, dese,
Mit a long white beard a fallin'
Fery nearly to his knees.

Vonce dis bier-saint, pright und early,
Rose from bett und vent his vay,
To a dark mysderious gastle,
Vhere his lager-donjon lay.
Vhile de lark's first song vas ringin',
Und die roses shone in dew,
Den his soul vas shoost in order
To enshoy de early brew.

Deeply, awfooly he schwilled it,
Till de vaults seem toornin round;
Und vhile tipsy - over tips he-
In he falls - und dere is trowned.
Yet vhile goorglin in de bier-fass,
Biously he gafe his soul:
"Gott verdammich! Donnerwetter!
Himmels sacrament-a-mol!"

Dere dey found der köng "departed,"
Not mitout his stir-up cup:
Moosh dey woonderd dat he berishet
Vhen he might hafe troonk it oop;
Or dat his long peard vitch floatet
Fool a yard on efery side,
Hadn't buoyed him from destrugdion:-
Dus der beer-dead monarch died.
FRANKFORT-ON-THE-MAIN.

"Sankt Martin war ein frommer Mann
Trank gerne Cerevisiam,
Und hatt er kein Pecuniam
So liess er seinen Tunicam."

(Comment by Herr Schwackenhammer.)

VONCE oopon a dimes in Frankfort der Herr Breitemann exsberiencet
an interfal pedween de periot ven he hat gespent de last
remiddance
he hat become from home, und de arrifal of de succedin wechsel,
or
bill of exghange - und, in blain derms, was hard up. Derefore he
vent to dat goot relation who may pe foundt at den or fifdeen per
cent all de worlt ofer, - "mine Onkel," - und poot his tress-goat
oop de shpout for den florins. No sooner vas dis done, dan dere
coomed an infitation from de English laity in whom he vas so
moosh
mit lofe in betaken, to geh mit her to a ball-barty. Awful bad
vas
he veel, und sot apout tree hours mitout sayin nodings, und denn
wafin his hand, boorst out mit de vollowin version of dat
peaudiful
lied by Wilhelm Caspary:-

"Mein Frack ist im Pfand-haus."

Mine tress-goat is shpouted, mine tress-goat aint hier,
Vhile you in your ball-ropes go splurgin, mein tear!
To barties mit you I'm infitet you know,
Boot my pest coat ish shpouted - mine poots are no go.
To hell mit mine Onkel - dat rasgally knafe!
Dis pledgin und pawnin has mate me his slafe!
Ven I dink of his sign-bost, den dree dimes I bawl,
Vhile mine plack pants hang lonely und dark on de wall.

Goot night to dee fine lofe - so lofely und rich,
Mein tress-goat ish shpouted - gon-fount efery stitch!
I dinks dat olt Satan troo all mine affairs,
Lofe, business, und fun, has peen sewin his tares.
My tress-goat ish shpouted - mine tress-goat aint here,
While you in your glorie go shinin, mein tear,
Und de luck of der teufel ish loose ofer all,
Vhile my black pants hang lonely und dark on de wall.

Dis four-goin song vas over-set by der Hans Breitmann from de
German of Wilhelm Caspary, whose lyric vas a barody on a
dranslation made indo Deutsch by Freiligrath from anoder boem py
Sir Waldherr Scott, vitch Sir Waldherr vas kit de idée of
from an
oldt Scottish ballad vitch pegin mit de vorts-

"My hearts in de Hielands, mein hearts ish nae hier,
Mein hearts in de Hielands, in wilden revier;
It hoonts for de shtag, und id hunts for de reh,
Mein hearts ist im Hochland wo immer ich geh."

Dis is de original Scotch, as goot as I can mineself rememper
it.
Ven I vas dell der Herr Karl Blind pout dis intercommixture of
perplexified dransitions from Scotch to English, and dence into
German, and dereafter into a barody, vitch vas be done ofer again
indo
Herr Breitmann's own slanguage, he sait it vas a Rattenkönig
- a
phrase too familiar to mine readers to require any wider
complication.[66]


ITALY.

- - -

BREITMANN IN ROME.

DERE'S lighds oopon de Appian,
Dey shine de road entlang;
Und from ein hundert tombs dere brumms
A wild Lateinisch song;
It rings from Nero's goldnen haus;
Evoe! - here he coom!
Fly oud, ye mœnads, from your craves!-
Hans Breitmann's got to Rome!

For vhile de lamp holts oud to purn,
Or von goot shpark ish dere,
Dere's hope for all of dem whose lives
Ish doun in Lemprière.
Von real, shenuine heathen
Is coom at last to home;
Ye shleepin gotts, lift oop your hets-
Hans Breitmann lifes in Rome!

Silenus mit der Hercules,
Dere-to der Maia's sohn,
Ish all unite in Breitmann
To make a stunnin one.
Frau Venus mit de Bacchanals
Ist shmile to see him come;
De Vesta only toorn her pack
Vhen Breitmann kit to Rome.

He vented to de Vacuum,
Vhere de Bope ish keep his bulls;
Boot couldn't vind dem, dough he heardt
Dat all de blace vas fools.
Dere ish here and dere some ochsen,
Right manivest I see;
Boot de bools all comes from Irish priests,
Said Breitemann, said he.

Und goin' py de Vacuum,
Und passin' troo de yard;
Mein Gott! how vas he stoomple, vhen
He see der Schweitzer guard,
Mit efery kinds of colors tresst,
Like shtreamers in de van.
"Hans Wurst ist stets ein Deutscher g'west,"
Das marked der Breitemann.

Und dus replied an guartsmann:-
"I shoys to see you here:
Ich bin dem Bapst sei Laibgaertner.
Dazu a halberthier.
Dis purpur kleid of yellow-plue
Vas made, ash I hafe heard,
Py von Hans Michel Angelo,
Der tailor of our guard.

"Ve're shoost von hoondert dirty strong,
Ve list for twenty year;
De serfice ist not pad, boot dis-
Verdamm das Römisch bier!
For ven mit birra gazzosa
A maiden fills my glass,
She might ash vell gife gift ash say-
'Feinslieb, ich schenk dir dass!'"

Und dus rebly der Breitmann:-
"Un Tedesco Italianazato,
Ein Deutscher toorned Italian, ish
Il diavolo in carnato.
Your clothes are like infernal flames,
Dey burn my fery soul;
Boot to-night we'll trink togedder - nun
Lieb'landsmann lebe wohl!"

At de Sherman artisds' festa,
Vhere all vas pright und fair,
'Tvas fairer und more prighterfull
Vhen Breitmann enter dere.
Und der vaiters in de Greco
(So long he trinked und sot)
Vas called him L'Ubbriacone-
'Tvas de name der Breitmann got.

He saw a veller in de shtreet,
Vot sell some friction-matches;
De kind dey call Infallible,
For dey blazes ven you scratches.
Dey dragged him off to brison,
Und tied him mit a rope;
For in Rome dere's nix Infallible,
Dey said, excebt de Bope.

Hans see de crate Prometheus,
In Corsini's gallery hang;
He tought apout de matches,
Und it made his heart go bang.
It's risk to carry light apout,
Too cheap for efery man;
How de Lucifers is fallen![67]
Ita dixit Breitmann.

He got among de Bope's Zouaves,
Dey trinked from morn to night;
Den frolicked colle belle
Ontil de shky crew pright.
It blease der Breitmann vonderfool,
And dus he often say:
"Zouaviter in modo ish
Der real Roman way."

Boot oh, his heart burned vild mit fire,
His eyes gefilled mit tears,
At de gotts in efery bilder saal,
Mit goats' legs, tails, und ears.
Und he sopped - "Ach liebes Deutschland,
Bist here on every hand?
Was machst du Mephistophelés
So weit im Wälschen Land?"

Boot de wood-nymphs boorst out laughin,
Der Garten-gott dere to,
Und sait - "Oldt Hans! vile you're apout
Ve nefer can look blue."
Den Pan blay on his Syrinx,
To de tune of Mary Blane,
"Don't gry pecause ve're out of town,
Ve're coming pack again.

"Von day you got de yolk und vhite,
De next day only shells;
Von day dey holts a council,
Und de next day - 'someding else!'
Id's bopes und kings, und gotts and dings,
Oopon dis eartly ball;
Boot for me id's all von frolic,
Und a high oldt carnival!

"Rise oop, dou Odin-trafeler,
Und toorn dee to de Nort,
Wherefrom, as Bible dells dee,
Crate efil shall come fort.
Dere is mutterins in Ravenna,
Und ere long dere'll come a turn,
A real hell-bender from de land
Of Dieterich von Bern.

"Und ven der Breitmann's prototype,
Der Fictoor Manuel,
Cooms tromplin, tromplin troo de fern,
To give dis coontry hell.
Und ven in La Comarca,
Der is shtorm all in de air,
Dy Gotts vill gife dee vork, mein Sohn,
Hans Breitmann shall be dere!"

For a yar will nod be ofer
Pefore de Fräntsch will run,
Und de game at last be ented,
Und Italy pe won.
Und denn in roarin battle,
For hishtory so grand,
Dy banner'll lead de Uhlan spears,
All in de Frankenland.

- - -

Nota bene. - Dis boem was all written in 1869, pefore
de
wars; und all de dings prophezeit in it coomed to bass. Herein
der
Herr Breitmann abbears ash a Seher or Prophet so crate as de
cratest
ash nefer vas. Der crate ardist, Mishter W. W. Story, for whom
dis
lied vas written, can proof all dis.
FRITZ SCHWACKENHAMMER.
[Redaktör.]

LA SCALA SANTA.

"Robusti sono i fatti."
- Discorso del Terremoto,
del S. Alessandro Sardo.
Venetia, A.D. 1586.

IN San Gianni Lateran,
Dey've cot a flight of shdairs,
More woonderful ash nefer vas,
As Latin pooks declares.
For you kits your sins forgifen,
If you glimes dem knee py knee;
It's such a gitten up a stairs,
I nefer yet did see.

Now as Breitmann vas a vaitin
Among some demi reps,
Ascensionem expectans,
To see dem glime de steps,
Dere came a sinful scoffer,
Who his mind had firmly set
To go dem holy sdairs afoot,
Und do it on a bet!

Boot shoost as he vas startet,
To make dis sassy go,
Der Breitmann caught him py de neck,
Und tripped him off his toe!
Und den dere come de skience,
A la prenez gardez vous;
For he bung his eye and bust his shell,
Und shplit his noshe in dwo.

De briests vere so astonish,
To see him lam de man,
Dat dey shvore a holy miracle
Vas vork by Breitemann.
Says Breitmann, "I'm a heretic,
But dis you may pe bound,
No chap shall mock relishious dings
Vhile I'm a bummin round.

"Und you owes me really noding,
For as I'll plainly show,
At last I've found out someding
Vot I alfays vant to know.
Und now dat I have found it,
In de newspapers I'll brag:
Evviva! Ho trovato,
Vot means a Scala-Wag."[68]


BREITMANN INTERVIEWS THE POPE.

"Altri beva il Falerno, altri la Tolfa.
. . . . . . . .

Toscana re, dite
Pra ch'io parli dite."
- Bacco in Toscano,
di Francisco Redi.

"Si regressum feci metro
Retro ante, ante retro-
Quid si graves sunt acuti?
Si accentus fiant muti?
Quid si placide, plene, plane
Fregi frontem Prisciani?-
Sat est Verbum declinavi
Titubo-titubas-titubavi."
- Barnabæ Itinerarium. London, 1716.

VON efenin ash der Breitmann vent from his weinhaus vinkin,
So peepy mit Falernian vitch he vas starkly trinkin,
He found his hut and goat was gone, - dey'd dook em oud for
dryin,-
Und in deir blace a priester hut und priester mantel lyin.

Der Breitmann poot de triangel oopon his het, and whistled,
Den rop de cloak around his form, and down de Corso mizzled.
De beoples gazed mit staunischment as bey dem he go vheelin,
He look ganz oltra tramontane, so twisty vas his reelin.

Next tay in Vaticano, while he shtared at frescoes o'er
him,
Hans toorned und mit amazemend saw der Pabst vas shoost pefore
him!
Down on his knees der Breitmann vent - for so de law it teaches;
He proke two holes in de bavement - und likevise shblit
his preeches.

"Ego video," says de Bope - "tu es antistes ex Almania,
Est una mala gente et corrupta con insania,
Un fons hereticorum et malorum tut terrible,
Perche non vultis che ego - il Papa - sei infallibile."

"Sit verbo venia," said Hans, "permitte, Sancte Pater,
Num verum est ut noster rum gemixta est mit water?
In cœlis wo die götter live, non semper est sereno,
Nor de wein ash goot ash decet in each spaccio di vino.

"Sunt mihi multi fratres qui si denkunt ut dicisti,
Ego kickerem illos, validê, per sanguine de Christi!
In nostro monasterio si habemus nostrum rentum
Contra infallibilità non curamus rubrum centrum.[69]

"Viginti nostrorum nuper convenere,
In quondam capitulo, simul et dixere;
Papa vult Concilium in Romam tenere,
Quid debemus super hoc ipsi respondere?"[70]

Et dixit noster presul, "Es ist mir omnis unus,
Si Papa est infallibilis, tanquam non sum jejunus,
Si nonus est Pius aut Pius est Nonus-
Diabolis curat. Non accipio dieser onus.

"Si possum me jac&ebreve;re circum vitrum Rhenovini[71]
Es ist mir wurst si Papa est originis divini:
Deus se fecit olim homo, et nahm dis irds'che Leben,[72]
Et nunc Papa noster will sich selbst zum Gott erheben.

"Ita dixit Breitmann et sanctus Pater respondit:
Me piace semper intendere tutto cio che l'on dit,
Sed tu dic mihi la sua ragione:
Tu non homo natus es, solus mangiar maccheroni.

"Tonitrus et cespes!" dixit Johanes Breitmann.
"Si veritatem cupies, tunc ego sum der right man;
Percute semper ferrum dum caldum est et malleable,
Nunc est tuum tempus te facere infallible.

"In nostra America quum Præses decet abire,


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Online LibraryCharles Godfrey LelandThe Breitmann Ballads → online text (page 9 of 13)