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The Picnic
by Charles G. LelandDe Picknock oud at Spraker's Wood:
It melt de soul und fire de plood.
Id sofly slid from cakes und cream;
Boot busted oop on brandy shdeam.
Mit stims of tender graceful ring,
De gals begoon a song to sing;
A bland mildt lied of olden dime
Deutsch vas die doon, und Deutsch de rhyme.
Wi's uff der Stross' wenn's finschter ischt,
Und niemond in der Goss' mehr ischt,
Nur Sch'ne M'del wolle mer fonga,
Wie es gebil'te Leut' verlonga.
At de picknock oud in Spraker's Wood,
De Bier was soft de gals were good:
Oondil von feller, vild and rasch,
Called out for a Yankee brandy-smash!
A crow vot vas valkin on de vall,
Fell dead ven he hear dis Dootchmann call;
For he knew dat droples coom, py shinks!
Ven de Dootch go in for Yankee drinks.
De Dootch got ravin droonk ash sin,
Dey smash de windows out und in;
Dey bust und bang de bar-room ein,
Und call for a bucket of branntewein.
Avay, avay, demselfs dey floong,
Und a wild infernal lied dey sung:
'Tvas, 'Tam de wein, and cuss de bier!
Ve tont care nix for de demprance here!
'O keep a pringin juleps in,
Und baldface corn dat burn like sin;
Mit apple tods und oldt shtone fence,
Ve'll all get corned ere ve go hence!'
Dey dash deir glasses on de cround,
Und tanz dill 'tvas all to brick-duss ground,
Ven dey hear von man had a ten-dollar note,
De crowd go dead for dat rich man's troat.
A demperance chap vot coomed dere in,
Vent squanderin out mit his shell burst in;
'It's walk your chalks, you loost your chance,
Dis vot de call der Dootchmans' dance.'
Boot ven de law, mit his myrmidon,
Vas hear of dese Dootchmen's carryins-on,
Dey sent bolicemen shtern und good,
To pull dose Dootch in Spraker's Wood.
De Dootch vas all gone roarin mad,
Und trinked mit Spraker all dey had;
Dey shpend 'nuf money to last deir life,
And each vas tantzin mit anoder man's wife.
Dey all cot poonish difers vays,
Some vent to jug for dirty tays;
Und de von dat kilt de demperance man
Vas kit from de Alderman repriman.
Und dus it ran: 'A warnin dake,
For you mighdt hafe mate soom pig mishdake;
Now how vouldt you hafe feeled, py shing!
If dat man hat peen in de whiskey ring?
'Since you votes mine dicket, of course you know,
I'm pound to led you shlide und go.
Boot nefer on whiskey trink your fill,
For you Dootchmen don't know who to kill.'
Now Deutschers all on dis warning dink,
Und don't get troonk on Yankee trink,
For neider you, or anoder man,
Can pe hocks like de New York rowdies can.
So trink goot bier, mit musik plest,
For if you tried your level best,
You can't be plackguarts taint in de plood:
Dus endet de shdory of Spraker's Wood.