Gubben Didrik
Gamle Didrik var en man,
Klok, som få väl skola finnas,
Och en plägsed hade han,
Som är värd att minnas:
Just som den ville all verlden fick rusta –
Aldrig man fann honom klaga och pusta:
Sällan hans bröst klämde fram något »ack!»
Didrik bara teg och drack.
Didrik hade ock en fru,
Första året dråplig qvinna.
Skillnad sen på förr och nu
Didrik fick besinna:
Allt som matronan fick ister kring magen,
Snäste hon gubben och skärpade lagen,
Tillade honom mång lyten och lack –
Didrik bara teg och drack.
Didriks bröstarfvinge Jöns,
Virtuos på kam och giga,
Snattade sin grannes höns,
Älskade hans piga.
Gubben en gång smällde junkern på flinten.
Mor kom så till och försvarade pilten –
Didrik försigtigt sin rygg undanstack,
Kröp till vrån och teg och drack.
Didrik gubben, stackars mes,
Hade ock en enda dotter,
Som af bibel och katkes.
Gjorde papiljotter,
Frestade tången på sjette budordet,
Fick engång tvillingar hastigt vid bordet.
Gumman hon svor som en ryss och kossack –
Didrik bara teg och drack.
Didrik skuffad inom hus,
(Kan man det förtänka gubben!)
Tog sig jemt ett aftonrus
Klockan sex på klubben,
Hängde sin hatt på den vanliga spiken
Alltid ordentligt, gaf hin politiken;
Och när det hände slikt vådeligt snack,
Didrik bara teg och drack.
Didrik med sitt gråa hår
Och med ölet spildt på hakan
Ändtligt läggas uppå bår
Såg den ömma makan.
Didrik så nöjd följde liket i koret,
Myste och tyckte just om sig med floret,
Skyndade hem och spenderade rack,
Sjöng i glädjen, sjöng och drack.
Old
Boy Didrik
Old Boy Didrik, wise was he,
More than others round him squalling,
Held his peace, a tactic we
Would do well recalling:
Though the world always was tossing and straining –
From him came never a moan or complaining:
Seldom an ‘ah!’ from his lips could be heard –
Didrik drank, said not a word.
Didrik also had a wife,
She was festive one whole season.
That soon went from Didrik’s life
For the age-old reason:
As his old lady grew stouter and fatter,
She put the screws on, said he was the matter,
Told him his failings, the wrongs he’d incurred –
Didrik drank, said not a word.
Dridrik’s son and heir, called Jens,
Comb and fiddle virtuoso,
Often filched the neighbour’s hens,
Maid played amoroso.
Didrik one day gave the upstart a bashing.
Mother defended the lad, her eyes flashing,
Didrik then hid like a shy, frightened bird –
Sat and drank, said not a word.
Poor old Didrik’s heart did quake
At his daughter, such a teaser,
From her bible she would make
Curlers when it pleased her.
The sixth commandment her tongs turned quite sable,
Gave birth to twins once while sitting at table.
Swore like a cossack so everyone heard –
Didrik drank, said not a word
Didrik, pushed around at home,
(Can one blame the man, not really!)
Every evening outward roamed
At his club drank freely,
On the same hook hung his hat as he entered,
Shunned talk of politics, shrewdly self-centred;
Never by dangerous topics was spurred –
Didrik drank, said not a word.
Didrik with his hair now greyed,
Through his beard the beer now seeping,
Saw at last on her bier laid
His fond wife now sleeping.
Didrik the funeral watched, but not glumly,
Found that his tight-fitting crape was quite comely,
Hurried back home, where punch flowed undeterred,
Sang and drank, his wife interred.
For a recording of the song, go to here:
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