From Vienna, happy greetings,
From Sir Bach—but this—
Are you well? And this sealed letter
He sends you with a kiss.”
Even on an empty stomach
I am most polite.
“Pardon me, you royal servants,
This shirt I wear at night.”
But old Jack, my coal-black bulldog,
Lacks all sense of mirth
He knows “habeas corpus” only
Through his English birth.
viť, měsíčku, polehoučku
skrz ten hustý mrak:
jak pak se ti Brixen líbí?
Neškareď se tak!
So he almost made a blunder,
Broke a rule or two
As he growled beneath the bedstead
At the royal retinue.
But I trew at him a volume
Of our monarchic laws;
And he growled no more that evening
Without any cause.
III.
I am used to rule and order;
Since it was December,
I put on my woolly stockings
Aided by each member.
