Nicely dressed, in
a chamber-pot,
He navigated down the Rhine;
Reaching Rotterdam, on the spot,
He said: " Young one, would you be mine? "
I'll take you, oh sweetest of all,
To my palace's nuptial bed!
Of wood-chips is made every wall,
And straw is the roof over your head.
This cosiness will suit you well,
And there, you will be like a queen!
Our bed will be a nut-shell,
The sheets of spider-web sateen.
We'll eat ant-eggs, fried in butter,
There'll be plenty of worms to bake.
I'll also inherit from mother
Many a tasty little cake.
Here, fat and bacon do abound,
And I have thimble full of wine,
And a turnip grows on my ground:
Here, your life will be divine!
Some kind of courtship! With a sigh,
The bride said: " Oh God! oh God! "
She felt as if she could almost die,
And, at last, she climbed into the pot.
Are the heroes of this song
Mice or people? I no longer know!
I heard it - if I am not wrong -
In Beverland, thirty years ago.