Right red Rhine wine! right red Rhine wine!
Was ever glass so clear and fine?
So sing:
Ruli, King Ruli! And he shall be our king!
Late in the night the sound of song and story made for the gentle monarch a lullaby, and his head rested on his bosom in slumber, as he laid down his flagon. Had his chief minstrel then tickled his great ear, it would not have waked him up; and so, seeing that the king had filled himself with slumber as with the drugs of Morpheus, his lieges sang:
But, hold! the monarch's sleepy grown;
His pipe has dropt, he's drowsed and sped.
Hark! how he snores! Wide open doors;
We'll bury him in bed.
Then, while our loyal shoulders bear