Zwei Schatten seh' ich schweben
In spaeter, spaeter Nacht;
Wisst Ihr, wohin sie streben?—
—Beide auf Numero Acht!—
I see two shadows sweeping
In deep, deep night so late;
And know'st thou where they creeping?
—Both—both to Number Eight!
The porter hears them drumming,
And, waking, bids them wait:
He well knows who is coming,
Those two in Number Eight.
'Old Holland knows the crowd is
Right from the Wild Hunt straight!
Oh, owe, you gay old rowdies,
Who room in Number Eight!
'Is that the way a writer
Makes the world calls great?
You early-cock-tail-fighter,
You birds in Number Eight!
'Is't thus a pious pastor
On his flock should meditate?
You sinful-hearted master,
You rips in Number Eight!
The porter in his throttle
Deep grumbling holds debate,
And hears: 'Another bottle
Or two—for Number Eight!'
With a singing and a dinging,
And laughter long and great,
Till the landlord hears it ringing,
The two in Number Eight!
He spits and turns his nose up,
The bedstead groans with weight,
And then a snuff-pinch goes up,
'Those men in Number Eight!'