HERMANN.

His cellar is a goodly spot,
Tire lon, laire,
'Tis tomorrow we devast it,
Tire lon la!


CHORUS.

Tire lon la!

(Knocking of glasses.)


LUTHER.

Here, gentlemen, here.


WILHELM.

His wife is a daughter of Eve,
Tire lan laire,
'Tis to-morrow we abduct her,
Tire lon la.


CHORUS.