Come, carouse thee, carouse thee, my knowing Swiss boy,
Sack thy gains, and from labour away.
Stick the tongue in the cheek, and sing "_La République_
(Like _l'Empire_, as we know) _c'est la paye!_"
The season's done, with purses low,
The weary tourists homeward flow--
Then carouse thee, carouse thee, my knowing Swiss boy,
Sack thy gains, and from labour away!
_Swiss Landlord respondeth_--
Am not I, am not I, say, a merry Swiss boy,
When I hie from the mountain away?
_Les Milords_ they may climb, without reason or rhyme,
But, _beigott_, for their climb they shall pay.
My shutters up, no thieves to fear,
Till back the tourists come next year,
Then will I, then will I, as the merry Swiss boy,
Take purses upon the highway!
By the nose, by the nose, sir, the knowing Swiss boy
The _Milords_ and _Miladis_ can lead;
Through the nose, through the nose, too, the knowing Swiss boy
The _Milords_ and _Miladis_ can bleed:
Hotels so high high charges grow;
_Point d argent, point de Suisse_, you know.
So with _Vivent les Anglais!_ locks the merry Swiss boy
The francs in his strong-box away!
* * *