"Gewald! Gi't mir Brechwein, gi't Zeitungsmaimorim, Gi't Nechbi-ben-Wofsi's Artiklen; Gi't gich Feuilletonen, gi't jüdische Sforim-- Un' thut mir dās All's zunaufwicklen,
"Un' macht mir a Mittel zum Brechen, zum Brechen! Gi't Sforim vun spätere Dōres! Gi't Schomer's Romanen, see senen, ich rechen' Zum Brechen vorzügliche S-chōres--
"Gi't Sforim vun neunzehnten klugen Jāhrhundert, Gi't kluge 'Kritiken'--vun wemen Ihr willt sich allein nor; gi't gicher--mich wundert, Wie brech' ich schōn nit bei die Nämen!"--
Beim Breg vun dem Wasser, vun Jāffō bis Tarschisch, Dort hört sich a Žummen un' Brummen-- A Mittel zu Brechen, vun Jāffō bis Tarschisch, Hāt dorten a Fisch eingenummen.
Un' still is' un' ruhig; es kraüselt die Nacht sich Un' flecht ihre tunkele Locken; In Himmel die Steren,--see flammen, es dacht sich, Wie gelbliche, goldene Pocken.
Un' still is' un' ruhig, es flecht gār die Nacht sich Un' kraüselt die finstere Locken; Es wandelt gār still die Natur, un' es dacht sich, Sie gēht wie auf seidene Socken.
"I cannot stand his praying, his chanting,--his dancing, like a calf, his false, barbaric doings,--his leaping.... Help! Give me quickly some emetic!
"Help! Give me some emetic, give me newspaper discussions, give me Nechbi-ben-Wofsi's articles. Give me feuilletons, give me Jewish books,--and put them all in a bundle,
"And make me a medicine to vomit, to vomit! Give me books of later generations! Give me the novels of Schaikewitsch,--I think they are excellent stuff for vomiting.
"Give me books of the wise nineteenth century; give me criticisms, whosesoever you wish yourself; only give them quickly,--I am surprised I am not vomiting at mentioning these names!"
On the shore of the waters, from Jaffa to Tarshish, one may hear a grumbling and growling;--an emetic, from Jaffa to Tarshish, a fish has swallowed there.
And all is still and quiet; night is curling and braiding her sable locks; the stars in the sky,--they flame, it seems, like yellow, golden pustules.
And all is still and quiet, and night is braiding and curling her dusky locks; nature wanders in silence, and it seems she walks on silken stockings.
Un' plutzling derhört sich a Kol in der Finster, Gār fürchterlich hāt er geschriegen; Es hāt dort a Wallfisch, vun alle der dünster, A groben Frummak ausgespiegen.