 | The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth |  |
78
THE KROUT FEAST.—NO. 1.
Krouts, who have so often fed
Here, on cabbage white and red,
Welcome now—the board is spread
For our revelry!
Now 's the day, and now 's the hour,
See! our royal chief devour,
Sausage, goose, and cabbage sour,
Scorning rivalry!
Here, on cabbage white and red,
Welcome now—the board is spread
For our revelry!
Now 's the day, and now 's the hour,
See! our royal chief devour,
Sausage, goose, and cabbage sour,
Scorning rivalry!
Who would be to care a slave?
Who, at such a feast, be grave?
Who refuse to chant a stave?
Let him quickly flee!
Who for cabbage, king, and law,
Knife and fork will freely draw,
'Till there 's naught but bones to gnaw,
Let him do like me!
Who, at such a feast, be grave?
Who refuse to chant a stave?
Let him quickly flee!
Who for cabbage, king, and law,
Knife and fork will freely draw,
'Till there 's naught but bones to gnaw,
Let him do like me!
By an empty stomach's pain,
By blue devils in the brain,
We will eat, and quaff champagne,
'Till the demons flee!
Lay the krout and smoked-goose low,
Let the wine in torrents flow
'Till the cheeks with rapture glow,
'T is our king's decree!
By blue devils in the brain,
We will eat, and quaff champagne,
'Till the demons flee!
79
Let the wine in torrents flow
'Till the cheeks with rapture glow,
'T is our king's decree!
Load your plates above the rim,
Fill your glasses to the brim,
Think what honors wait on him,
Who the prize receives!
'T is a race of bright renown,
'T is to win a princely crown,
'T is to wear a royal gown,
Made of cabbage leaves!
Fill your glasses to the brim,
Think what honors wait on him,
Who the prize receives!
'T is a race of bright renown,
'T is to win a princely crown,
'T is to wear a royal gown,
Made of cabbage leaves!
Krouts, then play your manly parts,
With the puddings, pies, and tarts;
Cabbage-heads have generous hearts,
Let them bound with glee
'T is a custom we revere,
'T is a feast to Dutchmen dear,
Knickerbockers every year
Keep the jubilee!
With the puddings, pies, and tarts;
Cabbage-heads have generous hearts,
Let them bound with glee
'T is a custom we revere,
'T is a feast to Dutchmen dear,
Knickerbockers every year
Keep the jubilee!
| The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth | |