On their spears and thick spiked clubs.
Near the old church in the market
Stood the village elders, with the
Union-leader and mace-bearer.
"Silence, men!" the beadle shouted.
Silence reigned, and on the church-steps
Mounted then the peasants' speaker,
Holding an official paper,
Stroked his long gray beard, and said:

"Inasmuch as the hard war-time
Has much injured town and country,
And the debt is much augmented;
So to meet increased expenses
Our most gracious rulers hereby
Do exact new contributions;
Seven florins from each household,
And from all the bachelors two.
And next week the tax-collector
Comes to gather these new taxes.
So 'tis written in this paper."
--"Death upon the tax-collector!
May God damn him!" cried the people.--
"Now as we ourselves have suffered
Quite enough by this sad war, and
Many lost their goods and chattels;
And because 'tis pledged in writing
As one of our privileges,
That there shall be no new taxes
E'er imposed upon this country,
Many this demand consider
As a most unjust extortion,
Think we should stand up most firmly
For our ancient rights by charter,
And should never pay a farthing."
--"Not a farthing!" cried the people.--
"So we summoned you together
For your final resolution."

Like the distant surf their voices
Loudly roared in wild confusion:
"Come! stand up! speak out! We must now
Hear the Bergalingen Fridli.
He knows best--and all we others
Always are of his opinion."
Then stepped out the man thus called for,
And upon a big log mounting,
Spoke thus with a shrewd expression:

"Do you see at last, dull peasants,
What the end will be? Your fathers
Once gave up their little finger;
Now they want to seize the whole hand.
Only give it, and you'll soon see,
How they'll flay your very skin off!
Who can really thus compel us?
In his woods free lives the peasant,
Nothing but the sun above him.
So it stands in our old records,
In the statutes of our union:
Nothing there of rent and socage,
Nothing of a bondman's service!
But there's danger we shall have them.
Do you know what will protect us?
Yonde