“Keep on, dear Isegrim, you’ll soon have it now!”
Poor Isegrim sucked on, until the water ran out at his nose. Then Reinecke stopped up his nose and climbed upon his back, saying he was sick and could not walk, and Isegrim must carry him.
The Wolf, in very woful plight, set out to carry the Fox, when Reinecke tuned up and sang:
The sick is carrying the well!
The sick is carrying the well!
And he kept on repeating the same words until Isegrim asked:
“What’s that you’re singing, cousin?”
“Nothing, nothing, dear Isegrim; they are only the fantasies of illness!” and he kept up his song:
The sick is carrying the well!
The sick is carrying the well!