WAGONMAKER. The people should now assemble here and form a
procession, but I don't see a cat! Shoemaker, didn't you tell the
printer that we were to celebrate the Memorial Festival to-day?

SHOEMAKER. Why certainly, certainly!

WAGONMAKER. Will the gentlemen please form a semi-circle around the
object's pedestal--so!

CHIROPODIST. We might begin with the cantata--then perhaps the
people will come.

WAGONMAKER. I can't understand why the burgomaster isn't here? He
always treated us to brandy other years.

SHOEMAKER. If you start the song he'll wake up, if he has overslept
himself. Tune up, gentlemen--do, mi, sol, do!

WAGONMAKER. Then, I'll begin--but watch out for the trio so as to
make it a regular ear-splitting ensemble!

[Solo Recitative.]
Hail to thee, Burgomaster!
Hail to thee, benefactor!
Life burns our deeds within its envious fire,
But mem'ry, like a phoenix from the pyre,
Rises on stalwart wing to waft them higher.

SHOEMAKER. Well whistled, Wagonmaker! Any signs of the grog yet?