"O red little sun! O my Father, don't kill me! I have but one child, Oh, have pity upon him! My poor boy is daft, Without wits the Lord made him, And sent him so into The world. He is crazy. Why, straight from the bath 390 He at once begins scratching; His drink he will try To pour into his laputs Instead of the jug. And of work he knows nothing; He laughs, and that's all He can do--so God made him! Our poor little home, 'Tis small comfort he brings it; Our hut is in ruins, 400 Not seldom it happens We've nothing to eat, And that sets him laughing-- The poor crazy loon! You may give him a farthing, A crack on the skull, And at one and the other He'll laugh--so God made him! And what can one say? From a fool even sorrow 410 Comes pouring in laughter." The knowing young woman! She lies at the feet Of the Barin, and trembles, She squeals like a silly Young girl when you pinch her, She kisses his feet. "Well ... go. God be with you!" The Barin says kindly, "I need not be angry 420 At idiot laughter, I'll laugh at him too!" "How good you are, Father," The black-eyed young lady Says sweetly, and strokes The white head of the Barin. The black-moustached footguards At this put their word in: "A fool cannot follow The words of his masters, 430 Especially those Like the words of our father, So noble and clever." And Klim--shameless rascal!-- Is wiping his eyes On the end of his coat-tails, Is sniffing and whining; "Our Fathers! Our Fathers! The sons of our Father! They know how to punish, 440 But better they know How to pardon and pity!" The old man is cheerful Again, and is asking For light frothing wine, And the corks begin popping And shoot in the air To fall down on the women, Who fly from them, shrieking. The Barin is laughing, 450 The ladies then laugh, And at them laugh their husbands, And next the old servant, Ipat, begins laughing, The wet-nurse, the dry-nurse, And then the whole party Laugh loudly together; The feast will be merry! His daughters-in-law At the old Prince's order 460 Are pouring out vodka To give to the peasants, Hand cakes to the youths, To the girls some sweet syrup; The women drink also A small glass of vodka. The old Prince is drinking And toasting the peasants; And slyly he pinches The beautiful ladies. 470 "That's right! That will do him More good than his physic," Says Vlasuchka, watching. "He drinks by the glassful, Since long he's lost measure In revel, or wrath...."