There lie the ancient imperial robes,
The purple frippery faded,
The German kingdom’s wardrobe in fact,
Now rusted and rot-pervaded.
The Housekeeper mournfully shakes her head
At the sight, then with deep displeasure
She suddenly cries at the top of her voice:
“The whole of them stink beyond measure!
“The whole of them stink with mice’s dung
“And rotten and mouldy’s the ermine;
“And all the gaudy trumpery work
“Is swarming with noxious vermin.
“In truth, on this splendid ermine dress,
“Once used at the coronation,
“The cats of the Senate-house district are wont
“To lie, as their lying-in station.
“’Tis useless to clean them; I pity the fate
“Of the Emperor next elected;
“By the fleas in his coronation robe
“His health will be surely affected.
“And know ye, that all the people must scratch,
“Whenever the Emperor itches—
“O Germans, I dread the princely fleas
“Who swallow up much of your riches.
“Yet what is the use of monarch and fleas?
“For rusty are now and all rotten
“The olden costumes—By modern days
“Are the ancient dresses forgotten.
“The German poet at Kyffhauser said
“To Barbarossa quite truly:
“‘I find that we want no Emperor now,
“When I weigh the matter duly.’
“But if, spite of all, ye an empire must have,
“With an Emperor reigning o’er ye,
“My worthy Germans, don’t suffer yourselves
“To be snared by genius or glory.
“Choose one of the people your monarch to be,
“All sons of the nobles reject ye;
“Select not the lion, select not the fox,
“The dullest of sheep elect ye.