O Tyl, my beloved, hear me, I cry!
Have ye seen him pass by?
Languisheth ever the faithful dove,
Seeking, seeking her fickle love.
So, far more so, languish I—
Have ye seen him pass by?
Ulenspiegel gave Lamme a blow on his great belly, and told him to hold his breath.
“That,” said Lamme, “is a very difficult thing, I fear, for a man of my corpulence.”
But Ulenspiegel, paying no further attention to his companion, hid himself behind the canvas hood of the cart, and began to sing in the voice of a man with a bad cold that has drunk well:
In a shaky old cart with age all green,