('Binjāmin ha-Schlischi,' pp. 6-9)
Tunejadewke, dās klēine Städtel, is' a varworfen Winkel, ān der
Seit' vun dem potschtowen Trakt, kimat ābgerissen vun der Welt asō,
as wenn a Māl macht sich, Ēiner kummt ahin zufāhren, öffent män die
Fenster, die Thüren, un' män kuckt varwundert ān dem frischen
Parschōn; Schcheenim frägen Ēiner beim Andern, arauskuckendig vun
die offene Fenster, assach mehr wie vier Kasches: Ha, wer soll es
asōns sein?
to the noblemen's goats, the whole herds of horses who run around in the
grain and eat up the blood and the sweat of the poor? Here you begrudge
the poor dobbin a handful of hay, and do not at all care that there the
horses are doing no end of damage and making many people unhappy. That
alone which they trod under foot, which they simply destroy, would be
enough for the mare and her future generations! You, urchins, have no
sense of justice, not a hair's-breadth of it, you are not true to
anybody, and yet you take it upon yourself to take the part of the town
animals!"
* * * * *
"Ho, ho!" the urchins exclaimed, "he is getting angry, and he asks
questions of us! Come, boys! What is the use of discussing? Let him cry!
Pay no attention to him! Come, boys, come!"
An urchin blew his whistle, and the rude company started with their dogs
to attack once more the dobbin. They drove her for a long time; she was
bitten and torn until at last she was driven into a deep ditch where she
sank down in the mud.