There is an inn, a merry old inn
beneath an old grey hill,
And there they brew a beer so brown
That the Man in the Moon himself came down
one night to drink his fill.
The ostler has a tipsy cat
that plays a five-stringed fiddle;
And up and down he runs his bow,
Now squeaking high, now purring low,
now sawing in the middle.
The landlord keeps a little dog
that is mighty fond of jokes;
When there's good cheer among the guests,
He cocks an ear at all the jests
and laughs until he chokes.
They also keep a hornéd cow
as proud as any queen;
But music turns her head like ale,
And makes her wave her tufted tail
and dance upon the green.
And O! the rows of silver dishes
and the store of silver spoons!
For Sunday there's a special pair,
And these they polish up with care
on Saturday afternoons.
The Man in the Moon was drinking deep,
and the cat began to wail;
A dish and a spoon on the table danced,
The cow in the garden madly pranced,
and the little dog chased his tail.
The Man in the Moon took another mug,
and rolled beneath his chair;
And there he dozed and dreamed of ale,
Till in the sky the stars were pale,
and dawn was in the air.
Then the ostler said to his tipsy cat:
"The white horses of the Moon,
They neigh and champ their silver bits;
But their master's been and drowned his wits,
and the Sun'll be rising soon!"
So the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle,
a jig that would wake the dead:
He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune,
While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon:
"It's after three!" he said.
They rolled the Man slowly up the hill
and bundled him into the Moon,
While his horses galloped up in rear,
And the cow came capering like a deer,
and a dish ran up with the spoon.
Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle;
the dog began to roar,
The cow and the horses stood on their heads;
The guests all bounded from their beds
and danced upon the floor.
With a ping and a pang the fiddle-strings broke!
the cow jumped over the Moon,
And the little dog laughed to see such fun,
And the Saturday dish went off at a run
with the silver Sunday spoon.
The round Moon rolled behind the hill,
as the Sun raised up her head.
She hardly believed her fiery eyes;
For though it was day, to her suprise
they all went back to bed.
Existe um lugar, alegre e antigo
Ao pé da colina rara
Lá tem cerveja tão escura
Que o Homem da Lua veio à procura
Uma noite e encheu a cara
O dono tem um gato alcoólatra
Que sabe tocar violino
Sobe e desce o arco suave
Em cima agudo, embaixo grave
No meio serrote fino
O dono tem um vira-lata
Que adora ouvir piadas
Quando o povo está animado
Empina a orelha concentrado
E ri a bandeiras despregadas
Tem também vaca chifruda
Orgulhosa como rainha
Ela gosta de música à beça
Rebola o rabo e arremessa
Dançando solta sozinha
Ai! Os lindos pratos de prata
E os talheres em quantidade!
Há aos domingos um par convidado
E tudo é polido e cuidado
Ao sábado pela tarde
O Homem da Lua vai bebendo
O gato toca com bossa
Prato e garfo dançam na hora
Rebola a vaca lá fora
E o vira-lata o rabo coça
O Homem da Lua pede mais uma
Sob a mesa depois cai
Dorme e sonha com mais cerveja
Vai-se a noite benfazeja
E a aurora chegando vai
Diz o dono ao gato alto
- Os cavalos brancos da Lua
Rinchando mordem o freio
Mas seu dono dorme feio
E o sol já se insinua
O gato então de novo ataca
Num som de acordar finado
Vai serrando enquanto pode
E o dono o Homem sacode
- São mais de três - diz o coitado
O homem levam para a colina
E o enrolam na própria Lua
Os cavalos atrás galopando
Qual veado a vaca saltando
E um prato pula pra rua
Mais depressa toca o violino
O vira-lata põe-se a ladrar
Cavalo e vaca de bananeira
Querer dormir é brincadeira
Todos voltam a dançar
Pingue! Pongue! As cordas se partem!
A vaca pula pra Lua
O vira-lata põe-se a rir
Um prato ameaça fugir
Com colher que não é sua
A Lua redonda foi embora
E o sol que agora vai surgir
Não acredita no que vê
Porque, apesar do amanhecer
Agora todos vão dormir
