Classic Poem

Crapulinski and Waschlapski,
Poles who did not fear to fight
In the glorious cause of freedom
'Gainst the tyrant Muscovite,

Boldly fought, and fled to Paris
None the worse for their defeat.
Brave to perish for one's country,
But to live is also sweet!

Like Achilles and Patroclus
Each to each was as a brother:
Kissed like Jonathan and David,
Cried “Kochan!” to one another.

They were true and loyal comrades,
Friends who never were forsworn,
Notwithstanding they were Polish,
Noble Poles in Poland born.

Had a single room between them,
Shared the bed and shared the catching
Of the vermin, one in spirit,
Rivals only in their scratching;

Dined together in one beer-shop;
So unwilling, both, that either
Should defray the other's charges,
That the bill was paid by neither.

And the selfsame Henrietta
Every month would trill and hum,
As she mounted from the laundry,
For the double washing come.

Yes, they really had some linen,
Each a pair of shirts, no less!
Which, for noble Poles from Poland,
Was a marvel, you'll confess.

And at present they are seated
By the fire that flickers warm,
While, without, the coaches rumble
Through the dark and snow and storm.

And a bowl of punch—a big one—
They have drunk without a stop.
(Neither lemons there, nor sugar,
And of water, not a drop.)

And their souls are full of sorrow,
And the tears are in their eyes,
Wet with weeping are their faces,
And the Crapulinski sighs,

“If I only had my bearskin,
And my dressing-gown had here,
And my cosy catskin nightcap,
Left behind in Poland dear!”

But Waschlapski answered, chiding,
“Folk like you should never roam—
Always thinking of your nightcap
And your bearskin and your home.

“Trust me, Poland is not lost yet,
For our wives will rear us men,
And our maidens will be mothers,
And our land will boast again.

“Heroes brave like Sobieski,
Like Schelmufski and Uminski,
Eskrokewitsch, Schubiakski,
And the glorious Eselinski.”