“Don’t put in your nice mock-turtle soup “So very much Cayenne pepper; “Your carp are not wholesome with so much sauce, “Or when eaten with scales, like a leper. “Your turkeys will not do much harm, “But be on your guard ’gainst disaster “From the knavish bird that lays its eggs “In the wig of the burgomaster. “’Tis not for me to tell you the name “Of this bird of bad reputation; “When thinking about him, the food in my maw “Is stirr’d with indignation.” CAPUT XXII. More changed than even the city itself Appear’d the people within it; Like walking ruins they totter’d about, As if ready to tumble each minute. The thin still thinner than ever appear’d, The fat appear’d still fatter, The children were old, and the old were young, (In their second childhood the latter). Full many that I had left as calves, As oxen were herding together, And many a gosling had now become A goose in fullest feather. The aged Gudel I found be-rouged, And dress’d with syren-like brightness; She had procured some dark black hair, And teeth of dazzling whiteness. The best preserved of all was my friend The paper-dealer, good fellow; Like John the Baptist, round his head Was floating his hair so yellow. I only saw D---- a long way off, He slipp’d away so fleetly; I hear that his soul was burnt, but insured For a large amount discreetly. I also saw my old Censor again In the fog, and lowly stooping I met him in the goose market by chance, And he seem’d completely drooping. We shook each other’s hands, and some tears In his eye appear’d collecting; He was so pleased to see me once more! The scene was truly affecting. I found not all, for many a one Had quitted this scene for ever; My Gumpelino,[61] ’mongst others, alas! Was gone, to appear again never. That noble one had surrender’d his soul To Him by whom it was given, And now had a glorified seraph become In the blissful realms of heaven. In vain for the crooked Adonis I sought, (Though I look’d in every direction,) Who used to sell pots and pans in the street,-- A very cheap collection. And Sarras, the trusty dog, was dead, A loss of a serious nature; Friend Campe[62] would sooner have lost a whole host Of writers than this good creature. The population of Hamburg town Has from time immemorial consisted Of Jews and Christians; ’tis also the case That the latter are rather close-fisted. The Christians all behave pretty well, And pass their time in clover, And promptly pay their bills of exchange, Ere the days of grace are over.