Und dus rebly de dreamer: "If on de ice it shlip, Denn led id dake ids shanses, Rip Sam, und let 'er rip! Dou say'st id vill pe sturmy: Vot sturmy ish, ish crand, Crates heroes ish de beoples In Uncle Samuel's land. "Du bist ein rechter Gelbschnabel,[76] O golden bigeon mine, Und I'll fighdt id on dis summer, If id dakes me all dis line. Full liddle ish de discount, Oopon de Yankee peeps." "Go to hell!" exglaim de bigeon; Foreby vas all mine shleeps. Dere vent to Sout Carolina A shentleman who dinked,[77] Dat te pallads of der Breitmann Should papered pe und inked. Und dat he vouldt fixed de brintin Before de writer know: Dis make to many a brinter, Fool many a bitter woe. All in de down of Charleston, A druckerei he found, Where dey cut de copy into takes Und sorted it around. Und all vas goot peginnen, For no man heeded mooch. Dat half de jours vas Mericans Und half of dem vas Dutch. Und vorser shtill, anoder half Had vorn de Federal plue, Vhile de anti-half in Davis grey Had peen Confeterates true. Great Himmel! vot a shindy Vas shdarted in de crowd, Vhen some von read Hans Breitmann, His Barty all aloud! Und von goot-nadured Yankee, He schwear id vos a shame, To dell soosh lies on Dutchmen, Und make of dem a game. Boot dis make mad Fritz Luder, Und he schwear dis treat of Hans, Vos shoost so goot a barty Ash any oder man's. Und dat nodings vas so looscious In all dis eartly shpeer, Ash a quart mug fool of sauer-kraut, Mit a plate of lager-bier. Dat de Yankee might pe tam mit himself, For he, der Fritz, hafe peen, In many soosh a barty Und all dose dings hafe seen. All mad oopsproong de Yankee, Mit all his passion ripe; Und vired at Fritz mit de shootin-shtick, Vheremit he vas fixin type. It hit him on de occupit, Und laid him on de floor; For many a long day afder I ween his het was sore. Dis roused Piet Weiser der Pfaelzer, Who vas quick to act und dink; He helt in hand a roller Vheremit he vas rollin ink. Und he dake his broof py shtrikin Der Merican top of his het, Und make soosh a vine impression, Dat he left de veller for deat. Allaweil dese dings oonfolded, Dere vas rows of anoder kind, Und drople in de wigwam Enough to trife dem plind. Und a crate six-vooted Soudern man Vot hafe vorked on a Refiew, Shvear he hope to Gott he mighd pie de forms If de Breitmann's book warn't true. For de Sout' vas ploundered derriple, Und in dat darksome hour He hafe lossed a yallow-pine maiden, Of all de land de vlower. Bright gold doublones a hoondered For her he'd gladly bay Ash soon ash a thrip for a ginger-cake, Und deem it cheap dat day.