When the wool of the flock shall be gathered by me.
We truly are wolves, yet we're shepherds of sheep,
They must feed us, or death is the best they shall reap.
His Holiness forbids to marry;
This yoke the wisest ne'er could carry--
But then! when priests do cross the score,
The scandal only swells my store,
And makes my train extend the more.
Nought I refuse, e'en farthings tell,
A monied priest may have a belle.
Four florins a-year will wipe it away;
Does an infant appear?--again he must pay.
On two thousand florins I reckon each year,
Were they chaste, I should starve on a pittance I fear.[861]
Then hail to the pope; on my knees I adore
And swear in his faith to live evermore;
His church I'll defend, and till death I avow,
He alone is the god before whom I will bow.
[861] The German is very strong.
So bin Ich auf gut Deutsch ein Hurenwirth, etc. (Ibid.)
[Sidenote: THE CARNIVAL AT BERNE.]