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The following "Beggar’s Song," which belongs to this epoch, is not without humour.
Milj chudj, tešme se, radost se nám stata.
Up beggars! be joyful, for joy is our own,
Our garments are raining,[1] and bald is our crown—
Beloved! want presses us—what shall we do?—
Why, want is one woe—discontent would make two.
Let's in to the inn, tho' we stay but a minute,
For the bottle looks mournful when nothing isin it;
Legs weary—bags empty—and what shall we do?—
Why—bearing one burthen—we need not make two!
On friday we dine—from a half-empty pot—
Sour broth—ragged bones—bread and water we've got;
And fish?—without doubt—in the Danube—the sea,
Which are fresher and sweeter than caught fish can be.
- ↑ Sátky z nás opršely—Our clothes rain from us—i. e. they fall of in rags.
