Ihr liewe Leit:
Wie ich eich liewe Leser zwee Woche zerrick verschproche hab, mache
mer heit weider middem Birmelin seim Gedicht:
Auszeehring fierht zum friehe Dot;
Do gewwich dir en guder Rot:
Du brodscht emol en Rasselschlang
Un gebt's em Granke, sei net bang!
Un fer die Gichdre henkt mer als
Paar Gleddewatzel um der Hals.
Fer'n Kind ass aagewaxe iss,
Do hot mer'n Middel, helft gewiss-
Des muss mer darrich en Kummet schtecke;
Wann's bissel greischt, duh net verschrecke!
Die Kallick hot so'n aarmes Kind?
Do schaab am Disch die Ecke, gschwinnt,
Un geb sie dann dem Beewi ei;
Noh sin die Schmatze ball verbei.
Mer weess doch wie der Mumps verdreibt,
Wann ebber sich am Seidroog reibt.
Un Seideschteches watt vergeh,
Do schpaut mer drei Mol uff en Schtee,
Noh schmeisst mer'n hinnersich eweck,
Un do verlosst's eem uff em Fleck.
Browier's mol, wie gschwinnt es schtoppt!
Mer reibt en Gropp mit Dodegnoche,
Un der vergeht in wennich Woche.
En Schtrick aa dem en Mensch sich henkt,
Die Falletgranket leicht verdrengt.
Un will mer noch fer Bessres gucke,
Do muss mer Schlangehatzer schlucke.
Gewex, druff schpautze vor em Esse;
Do geht's eweck, iss ball vergesse.
En anner Middle iss bekannt-
Des schtreicht mer mit re dode Hand;
Un wie der Dot verfault im Grund,
Verfault's Gewex un du bischt gsund.
Un so die ganse Roi draahie,
Do kann ich gaar net sehne wie
Mer iwwerhaabt noch in der Welt
Zum Dokder geht, bezaahlt sei Geld!
Awwer mer welle mol aanemme ass der Mammi ihre Heilmiddel nix batt
un unser alder Weiweglaawe gaar net hellt. Dann muss mer em Birmelin sei zwett
guder Rot nemme, "Der Braucher":
Wann eener'n zeehi Granket hot,
So ebbes wiescht un weh,
Un meent ass nix meh badde wott,
Dutt aer zum Braucher geh.
Ya, iss mol eener grank un schwach,
Den hot er glei veil besser;
Do brauch er aa kee Dokdersach
Un aa mol gaar ken Messer!
Macht's gut,
Der Alt Professer
|
Dear people:
As I promised you dear readers two weeks ago, we will be continuing
with Birmelin's poem that we started on 13 March:
Consumption leads to an early death;
Here I give you good advice:
You fry a rattlesnake
And give it to the sick person, don't be afraid!
And for convulsions one sometimes hangs
A few burdock roots around the neck.
For a child that has become liver-grown,
One has a remedy for that, it surely helps-
One must put it through a horse collar;
If it cries a little, don't get scared!
A poor child has the colic?
Scrape the corners of the table, quickly,
And give them to the baby;
The pain will soon be gone.
One knows how to get rid of the mumps,
If someone rubs himself against the pig trough.
And a stitch in the side will go away,
If you spit three times onto a stone,
Then you throw it away backwards,
And it leaves you right on the spot.
Try it once; how fast it'll stop,
One rubs a goiter with a dead bone
And it disappears in a few weeks.
A rope with which a person has hanged himself
Drives off epilepsy easily.
And if one wants to look for something better,
One has to swallow snake hearts.
Tumors, spit on them before dinner;
It goes away, is soon forgotten.
Another remedy is well-known-
One strokes it with a dead hand;
And just as death rots in the ground,
The tumor will rot and you are healthy.
And so a whole succession of these things,
I just don't see why
One even in this whole world
Goes to a doctor, and pays his money!
But let us once assume that Mother's remedies don't help and that
our old wive's beliefs don't heal at all. Then one has to take Birmelin's
second good advice, "The Pow-wower":
If one has a tough sickness,
Something that is ugly and hurts,
And thinks that nothing wants to help.
Then he goes to the pow-wower.
Yes, if someone is sickly and weak,
He'll have him much better right away;
He won't need any doctor's things
And above all no knife!
Take care,
The Old Professor |
