A cross upon his breast. Prime minister they made him, He wore a star of
state; And all his poor relations Were courtiers, rich and great.
The gentlemen and ladies At court were sore distressed; The queen and all
her maidens Were bitten by the pest, And yet they dared not scratch them,
Or chase the fleas away. If we are bit, we catch them, And crack without
Such be the fate of every flea!
With clever finger catch and kill!
Hurrah for wine and freedom still!