Soprano solo
Bass solo
Horn
Travers flute
Violin I + II
Viola
Harpsichord
Basso continuo

Text
Ouverture: Violin I + II
Viola
Basso continuo

Aria (Duetto): Soprano solo, Bass solo
Violin I + II
Viola
Basso continuo




Recitative: Soprano solo, Bass solo
Violin I + II
Viola
Basso continuo





Aria: Soprano solo
Violin I + II
Viola
Basso continuo



Recitative: Bass solo
Basso continuo



Aria: Bass solo
Violin I + II
Viola
Basso continuo


Recitative: Soprano solo
Basso continuo



Aria: Soprano solo
Violin I + II
Viola
Basso continuo


Recitative: Soprano solo, Bass solo
Basso continuo





Aria: Soprano solo
Violin I + II
Viola
Basso continuo



Recitative: Bass solo
Basso continuo








Aria: Bass solo
Violin I + II
Viola
Basso continuo





Recitative: Soprano solo
Basso continuo





Aria: Soprano solo
Travers flute
Violin I + II
Viola
Basso continuo


Recitative: Bass solo
Basso continuo



Aria: Bass solo
Horn
Violin I + II
Viola
Basso continuo

Recitative: Soprano solo
Basso continuo





Aria: Soprano solo
Horn
Violin I + II
Viola
Basso continuo

Recitative: Bass solo
Basso continuo



Aria: Bass solo
Violin
Basso continuo

Recitative: Soprano solo, Bass solo
Basso continuo




Aria: Soprano solo
Violin I + II
Viola
Basso continuo




Recitative: Soprano solo, Bass solo
Basso continuo







(Choir): Soprano solo, Bass solo
Violin I + II
Viola
Basso continuo

We've got a bran-new guvernor
In this our Chamberlain.
He gives us beer to warm the heart,
That is the kernel plain.
The Rev' may ever angry be,
Ye players, ready for the fling!
Already Molly's skirt shakes, see,
The wanton little thing.

Bass: Now, Molly, closer yet, thy lips bring here;
Soprano: If that were all there were.
I know thee well, thou good-for-nothing,
Thou wilt then want another something.
For our new Squire is very keen of sight.
Bass: Ah, this our Squire won't bite;
He knows as well as we and doubtless better
How sweet it tastes to court a bit.

Ah, it tastes a bit too sweet,
When a pair in fondness meet;
Oh, there's bustling in the britches,
As when lazy fleas and midges
And an angry waspy host
At each other rage their most.

The Squire is good: but yet that taxman,
He is of sulphur made,
Who like a bolt a dollar's fine hath laid
Before we scarcely even get our fingers wet.

Ah, Sir taxman, be not all too grim,
Nor us wretched peasant people trim!
Easy on our skin;
If our cabbage then
Like the worms you've eaten to the stem,
Have done with them!

To this we're bound
That than our Squire no better's found.
One could not hone him any finer
Nor with a gunny sack of pennies pay him honor.

This our excellent,
Honored Chamberlain
Is a congenial man
Whom no one censure can.

Bass: He helps us all, both young and old.
And in thine ear I'll whisper:
Did this our village not well enough
At that last levy neatly prosper?
Soprano: I know in fact a better game,
The Squire o'er taxes hath a name.

That is gallant,
And none will vaunt
Of those evaded taxes.
Murmured words no one will dare,
Knauthain and Cospuden there
Have worked their coats to patches.

And this our gracious Dame
Is not one bit aloof.
And like us simple folks she's made of wood
that's tough
And talks indeed to us therefore
As though she on our level were.
She's true and fair, so generous and game,
And makes for our most gracious Squire
A single bat a host of dollars sire.

Fifty dollars, ready coin,
Throat unmoistened forced to muzzle
Is a thing that's hard to learn
Even when our hair they tousle;
But what's gone is gone for good;
In another neighborhood
All this sum will we make double;
Let the fifty cause no trouble.

A serious word!
Before I toward
Our village tavern
And to the dance am summoned,
Thou shouldst, indeed, in honor of the Master
To this new song of mine first listen.

Klein-Zschocher ever
Be sweet and tender
As purest almonds to the taste.
Within our goodly parish
Nought else today should flourish
But blessings rich and chaste.

That's much too smart for thee,
This song urbane in fashion;
We peasants sing with much more passion.
This ditty now attend which is just right for me!

We hope now that ducats ten thousand
Our Chamberlain ev'ry day gain!
Let him drink a good glass of wine,
And let him find its taste right fine!


That sounds too lackaday.
There are such fancy people here,
They will, I fear,
Their bellies fill with laughter;
No diff'rent, I should say,
Were I an olden tune to offer:

Give us, Lady,
Many'a laddie
Right handsome and tall
And raise them up all;
For this boon both Zschocher and Knauthain would call!

Thou art quite right.
That ditty sounds too slight;
To sing I must constrain me
A city tune, right dainty.

Thine increase be steady and laugh with delight!
Thine own bosom's virtue fair
Doth for thee thy fields prepare
In which shall bloom thy might.

Soprano: And with this we've done all that's fit.
Basso: Now ought we not for just a bit
Into our tavern venture?
Soprano: To wit, thou yet one word wouldst wager:

And that ye all may know,
It is now time to go
For drinkin'.
Those with a thirst should beckon.
If right hand won't obey
Then use without delay
The left one.

Basso: My dear, thy bidding!
Soprano: Because we now
Have here no more to do,
We shall in turn with ordered pace
To our old tavern go a-striding.
Basso: Ai! Let those two now join me,
Sir Ludwig and the tax-reviser
Today must come.

We march now where the dudelsack
In our old tavern drones;
And shout with joy as we carouse:
Long life to Dieskau and his house,
May he attain
His ev'ry aim
And whatsoever he might lack!