Breitmann in Turkey

Derr Breitmann hear im Turkenreich     Vas fighten high und low,     Steh auf, oh Schwackenhammer mein!     Its dime for us to go.     Zieh dein Kanonenstiefel an,     Und schleife Dir das Schwert,     Schon lang her han mer nichts gethan,     Der Weg ist reitenswerth.     Oopon vitch side? I hartly know     Boot von side in dis war:     Dere ist de holy Russ-land     All mit a holy Tsar;     But I pe not a holy-er,     Nor you von Saint, I fear;     Out line is holy ploonder,     Mit sacred Lager-bier.     Deres von Constantinoble-man     Vot write to me, und say     He kits me an commission     To make me Breitmann Bey,     Und if I mounts de turpan     Und keeps de Muslin law,     Und bribes ein wenig, den I rise     To Breitemann Pasha.     Dis much is drue, dat Toorkey is     A real Powder land,     Und if deyre goin to touch it off,     Vy, ve moost pe on hand.     Und if ve shpring into de airs     Vhile meddlin in de fuss,     I rader dink some Russian bears     Vill shpring along mit us.     Und ven he kit to Turkreich     Der Breitmann work like mad,     Und kit ein corps togeder,     Mein Gott! vat men he had!     Mit Polers und mit Shipsies,     Ungaren, Turks, und such,     Und allerlei Gesindel. Hei!     Says Hans: dis beats de Dutch!     Den onwards to his Schicksal     Und forvarts troo de night,     Und oopwarts to his mission,     Und downvarts in de vight.     Until in de Bulgren     Von night his horse he strode,     Und meet a tausand Kossacks     Pefore him on de road.     Slap forward rode der Breitmann     Right on de Kossack spears,     But forvarts coom deir leader     And halted his careers,     Und gry, O Turkisch Ritter,     I am de Capit?n,     And if you want a shindy,     Step up, and Im your man.     Dey fightet like der teufel,     Dey fightet mit deir swords,     Und Breitmann vould hafe kilt him,     But twas not on de cards,     For de Kossack fire a bistol     As his retreadt pegan,     Down from his horse all senseless     Flop! went der Breitemann.     Vhen he hafe kit his senses,     Der Breitmann find he lay     Insite a nople castell,     Upon a canap;     Und py his side a lady     So wunderschn to see,     Vas shlisin oop a lemon     Indo a cop of the.     Den to himself say Breitmann,     Aldough he hold his jaw,     Dis is de vinest womans,     Py Gott! I efer saw.     Vot lofeliness! vot muscle!     Mit efery himmlisch charm!     She measures twenty inches,     Bei Donner! roundt de arm.     De lady see his glances     So noble und so game,     Und yust as he reflected     She dink of him de same,     Und she say, Wie gehts? in English,     Du galiant cavalier,     Who art pecome de captive     All of my bow und spear.     I am a gal dis mornin,     Yestreen I vas a knight,     Old hoss you nearly smashedme,     I guess, in that small fight;     And if I hadnt shot you     I think I should have ran.     Gottshimmel mit Potzbomben!     Egsclaim der Breitemann.     But say, O nople lady,     Vot got you in dot set     Of plackgards vilt dou dell me?     De dame rebly: You bet!     My father came from Boston,     And when this war began     He got a splendid contract,     All with the Russi-n,     To sell the army shoe-strings;     But I have read of fights,     And I dream of war and glory,     For I go for womens rights;     Then I read a book of poems     Which fairly turned my head,     The ballads of Hans Breitmann     Oh    ho! Hans Breitmann said.     And as I think the Breitmann     Must be the greatest man     Who ever went a-fighting     Since History began,     I dressed me like a soldier,     For I am stark of limb;     With Breitmann for a model,     And try to act like him.     Oh, tell me, noble captive,     While rolling in this storm     Which men call life, hast ever     Beheld Hans Breitmanns form?     Oh, could I once embrace him,     And gaze into his eye,     And feel his arms around me,     Then I would gladly die.     He is the man of mortals,     The Odin of them all,     A higher Incarnation,     The Menschheitsidal,     A being made to worship,     To me an earthly Gott     Py shings! exglaim Hans Breitmann,     Dis ding is gettin hot!     O laity! nople gountess!     Dis man of whom you dink     Ish lyin here pefore you,     Half tead for want of trink,     Likewise for lofe of you, too,     Done up mit lofe and durst,     Und mit de two togeder,     I dont know vitch is vorst.     And dou canst safe dy hero     From bitter Todespein,     If dou hast in de Keller     Only one Fass of wein.     Nay, doubt not in my pocket     Is dot vitch brofes de man,     My bassport, und drei tavern bills     Against der Breitemann.     De laity she emprace him     Oontil he nearly bust.     Potz-blitz! gasp out der Breitmann,     She is a squeezer yust!     De dam she vas vealty,     Likewise an orphan too,     Mit a castel und a titel,     So Breitmann put it troo.     So soon the paar vere marrit,     Hei! vot a dimes dey had!     Hei! how dey life togeder     So clorious und clad!     Now he has cot a titel     Dot was a Capitn;     Hier hat de tale ein Ende     Of Herr Count Breitemann.