Dialogue.

A poem by Friedrich Schiller

A.
Hark, neighbor, for one moment stay!
Herr Doctor Scalpel, so they say,
Has got off safe and sound;
At Paris I your uncle found
Fast to a horse's crupper bound,
Yet Scalpel made a king his prey.

B.
Oh, dear me, no! A real misnomer!
The fact is, he has his diploma;
The other one has not.

A.
Eh? What? Has a diploma?
In Suabia may such things be got?

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'Dialogue.' by Friedrich Schiller

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy