The jailer acts as maître des plaisirs,
And dealing his lashes so fearful,
The weary dancers he stimulates,
And bids them be merry and cheerful.
So dideldumdei and schnedderedeng!
The strange unwonted commotion
Aroused from their lazy slumbers below
The monsters fierce of the ocean.
All-heavy with sleep, the sharks swam up,
In numbers many a hundred;
They stupidly stared at the ship on high
With amazement, and blindly wondered.
They see that their usual breakfast time
Has not come as soon as ’tis wanted,
So they gape and ope wide their throats, their jaws
With teeth like saws being planted.
And dideldumdei and schnedderedeng!
There seems no end to the dances;
The sharks grow impatient, and bite themselves
In the tail with their teeth like lances.
I presume that for music they’ve got no taste,
Like many an ignoramus;
Trust not the beast that music loves not,
Says Albion’s poet famous.
And schnedderedeng and dideldumdei!
Not one of the dancers seems lazy;
At the foremast stands Mynher Van Koek,
And with folded hands thus prays he:
“For Christ’s dear sake, O spare, good Lord,
“The lives of these swarthy sinners;
“If they’ve anger’d thee e’er, thou know’st they’re as dull
“As the beasts that we eat for our dinners.
“O spare their lives, for Christ’s dear sake,
“Who died for our salvation;
“For unless I have left me three hundred head,
“There’s an end to my occupation.”