But it will not be long, if he goes on so fast.
Rattle his bones over the stones!
He’s only a pauper, whom nobody owns.
You bumpkins, who stare at your brother conveyed,
Behold what respect to a cloddy is paid!
And be joyful to think, when by death you’re laid low,
You’ve a chance to the grave like a gemman to go.
Rattle his bones over the stones!
He’s only a pauper, whom nobody owns.
But a truce to this strain; for my soul it is sad,