Breitmann In Holland

To Amsterd-m came Breitmann     All in de Kermes tide;     Yonge Maegden allegader     Filled de straat on afery side.     De meisjes in de straaten     Vere tantzin alle nacht long;     Dere vas kissen, dere vas trinken,     Mit a roar of Holland song.     Who went into de straaten     Ven de sonn had gone his day,     De Dootch gals quickly grapped him     Und tantzed him wild avay.     Dere was der Prinz von Capua,     Who fell among dese wags;     Dey tantzed him off in a carmagnole,     Und sent him home in rags.     Und den at afery gorner,     So peaudifool to see,     De volk vas bilin dough-nuts,     Or else vas fryin tea.     Und Kermes cakes mit boetry,     Vitch land-volk dinks a dreat,     Mit all of Barnums blayed out shows     In dents along de shdreet.     Id pring de tears to Breitmanns eyes,     To find in many a shtand     Vot oft hed baid a quarder for     To see in a distand land.     De Aztec dwins und de Siamese     (Dough soom vere a wachsen sham);     Mit de Beardet Frau und de Bear Woman     All here in Amsterdam     De fashion here in Nederland     Ish not vot youd soopose,     Mit oos, men bays de vomens,     Boot de Dootch gals hires deir beaux!     Dey hire dem for de season,     Und because moosh rain ish fell,     Dey alvays bays a higher brice,     For a man mit an umberell.     Und dere vas Nord Hollander maids,     So woonderfool to see,     Mit caps of gold und goldne pins,     Und quaint orfverie.     Likewise de Zeeland Boersmen,     Mit silber bootons gay;     Und silber belts, und silber knives,     Mijn Gott!how sdrange vere dey!     But dough de men wore silber gear,     Und de vrouws in gold were tall,     De gals vere gabblin all de dimes,     Und de men said noding at all.     Dey say dat sbeech is silbern,     Boot silence golden pe,     Dat aint de vay dey vork id here,     Said Breitemann, said he.     Goot Gott! how Breitmann vent it,     In moonlighdt or in rain;     Den vakened to Schied-m it,     Ven de mornin peamed again.     For to solfe von awfool broplem,     He vas efer shdill incline;     Ifden wijn is beter als de min,     Orde min doet veel meer als de wijn.     Dwo weeks der Breitmann studiet,     Vile he vent it on de howl.     He shpree so moosh to find de troot,     Dat he lookt like a bi-led owl.     Den he say, Ik wil honor Bacchus,     So long as ik leven shall;     Boot not so moosh vercieren     As to blace him ofer all.     De rose of lofe is lofely     In zomer ven it plow;     De bush shdill gifes a bromise,     In winter mid de shnow;     Ja, als de bloeme is geplukt,     En van den steel genomen,     Ve know de peautiful vill life,     Till zomer is gekomen.     Boot oh dose vas arch-heafenly dimes,     Ven by mine lofe I sat;     Und see de maedchen pring de grapes,     Und crash dem in a vat.     Und ven her glances unto mine     In plessfool ropture toorn;     I dink dere neer vas no dwo crapes     Like dem plue eyes of hern.     Wat is soeter als de trinken,     Janiet kan beter zyn.     Niet is soeter as de minne,     It smackt nog beter als wijn.     Es giebt nichts wie die Mdchen,     Es gibt nichts wie das Bier,     Wer liebt nicht alle beide,     Wird gar kein Cavalier.     O vot ve vant to quickest come     Ish dat vots soonest gone.     Dis life ish boot a passin from     de efer-gomin-on.     De gloser dat ve looks ad id,     De shmaller it ish grow;     Who goats und spurs mit lofe und wein,     He makes it fastest go.