Queer chaps are these students, say folks every where, Although you should have them but once in the year; They make in the village such riot and reek, There's nought else left for us but plague for a week. Now must we be caring for St. Mary's day, And every one is wishing that Galli come may; Then come they with swords and fowling-pieces too, And make in the village a horrid to-do. There's nothing then in safety; no pigeon, no hen, As though they were made but for plunder of men; No goose dare even venture out into the meadow, These gents with their swords would soon whip off its head oh. Are gardens with boards and bars all fenced too? They burst them asunder that the sun doth shine through; In clambering for apples the trees too they break, 'Tis well if each home but a pocketful take. With fire and with powder we're in constant fears, That e'en our small house be burnt over our ears; Their crackers they let on our roofs hop and bound, And a devil cares not though they burn to the ground. Has one a good dog by his house-door to stay, And that from his chain could not break away, Straight let they him loose, when, troth 'twere no need, Potz hagel! they've shot, and the poodle is dead! Students 'ith Wirthshouse, are jolly and able. For all that they need is a great mighty table; They drink and they shout, as the house theirs had been: They drink and they cry till they're sky-blue and green. Now they talk Lapodeinish![43] I know not what 'tis; But one knows very well, it is we that they quiz-- Now they dance in the market, they leap and they play, And take from the hinds their own dance-place away. Then turn the men-servants, and cudgel them out, Till like mice they are running the streets all about; They gather to battle in furious throngs, And smite, lunge, and cry with right deafening lungs. Then they're off through the fields with their play to undo them, 'Tis just as if thunder should tear its way through them, They tread down the corn-field, they don't understand, What 'tis to eat black bread raised by their own hand. Is a horse in the meadow, his strength to recruit? The students soon seize on the poor weary brute, They're up, and their heels in his sides go ding-dong, Ah! might he, at least, but go slowly along! Two centuries have produced a proportionate improvement in the students; though as full of fun as ever, the country people have nothing like the wanton mischief here recorded to fear from them.