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The Martin's Goose Post by :malcolm Category :Poems Author :Joseph Victor Scheffel Date :November 2011 Read :2126

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The Martin's Goose

Der Mensch ist ein Barbar von Natur,
Er achtet nicht im mindesten die Nebencreatur,
Thut sieden sir und braten,
Verspeist sie mit Salaten,
Schütt't Wein oben drauf aus güldnem Gefäss
Und nennt das gelehrt: Ernährungsprocess.

All men are barbarous, 'tis true.
Nor care for their fellow-beings a sous.
They roast 'em, boil 'em, scour' em,
With salad then devour them;
Pour wine upon 'em in this condition,
And learnedly call the process nutrition.

I a good goose they have also caught,
Feathered and unto the table brought.
To King Gambrinus
Once spake Saint Martinus:
'This world, my lord, is nothing here,
But a priest's slice is good with wine or beer.'

The 'leventh November was the day
When he this with emphasis chanced to say,
'Therefore it is our use
To roast the Martin's Goose.'
I, poor bird, that is my reward,
And they eat me by a subscription card.

How different it was upon the heather,
When as gosling I stood for hours together,
On one foot resting,
My bill and eye twisting
Unto my true love, so handsome and fine,
Who had flown as a gander, of age, o'er the Rhine.

Oh, would that I ne'er in town had been,
Where never a cook of refinement is seen!
She laughed at me so rudely,
And pinched my legs so lewdly,
And said, 'Though you feel as if squeezed and jammed,
With Indian corn your crop must be crammed.'

So even while breathing and heaving sighs,
I am destined for roasts or Strasburg pies.
My mind is lost for ever,
I only grow in the liver;
They never ask, 'Is she gentle and fair?'
They only ask, 'What weight will she bear?

Is that our reward, because well behaved?
The world's capital one night we saved.
For, as they had been drinking,
All were asleep, unthinking;
Had it not been for our clatter and clack,
Rome had been French--yes, in Anno Tubak.

Save your scorn, gentlemen--take our advice,
We shall not save civilization twice;
And if to the Capitol,
Storm Claret, Hock, and Bowl,
No goose again will warn you from surprise,
Or hinder the red monkeys from dancing 'fore your eyes.


(The end)
Joseph Victor Scheffel's poem: Martin's Goose

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