Promenaders of all sorts pass out.
Why choose ye that direction, pray?
To the hunting - lodge we're on our way.
We towards the mill are strolling on.
The road is not a pleasant one.
Let's up to Burghof, there you'll find good cheer, The prettiest maidens and
the best of beer, And brawls of a prime sort.
You scapegrace! How; Your skin still itching for a row? Thither I will not go,