  The world is topsy-turvy turn’d, We walk feet-upwards in it; The woodcocks shoot the sportsmen down, A dozen in a minute. The calves are seen to roast the cook, On men are riding the horses; On freedom of teaching and laws of light The Catholic owl discourses. The herring is a sans-culotte, The truth is told by Bettina, And puss-in-boots brings Sophocles On the stage, with learned demeanour. An ape for German heroes has built A Pantheon, for glory zealous; And Massmann has lately been using a comb, As German papers tell us. The German bears, I grieve to say, Are atheists unbelieving, And in their place the parrots of France The Christian faith are receiving. The Moniteur of Uckermark With equal frenzy seems smitten; The dead have on the living there The vilest epitaph written. Then let us not swim against the stream, Good friends! ’twould serve us but badly; But let us ascend the Templehof hill, “Long life to the king!” shouting gladly. |
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