A.
Hark, neighbor, for one moment stay!
Herr Doctor Scalpel, so they say,
Has got off safe and sound;
At Paris I your uncle found
Fast to a horse's crupper bound,--
Yet Scalpel made a king his prey.

B.
Oh, dear me, no! A real misnomer!
The fact is, he has his diploma;
The other one has not.

A.
Eh? What? Has a diploma?
In Suabia may such things be got?




EPITAPH

ON A CERTAIN PHYSIOGNOMIST.

On every nose he rightly read
What intellects were in the head
And yet--that he was not the one
By whom God meant it to be done,
This on his own he never read.