Master Pato

Like an enchanted prince, beyond
The famous Nowhere's mighty pond,
Lives in a hamlet all alone,
A Mister Pato, grouchy grown.
Ah! what could be made of this life:
Would there be here a young, fair wife,
Master Pato's answer is:
"We have lots of time for this!"

The ancient home threatens to fall:
The plaster 's peeled of from the wall,
The winds took of the roof a piece,
And now and then a shutter seize,
Let's make repairs, or by and by,
We'll through the ceiling view the sky.
Master Pato's answer is:
"We have lots of time for this!"

The garden 's bare, howe'er the field,
Does all the richer harvest yield
Of poppies and dandelions,
And choicest weeds of all designs.
Why do the farm hands hang, around?
Why 's rust upon the ploughshares found?
Master Pato's answer is:
"We have lots of time for this!"

His fur-cloak and his pantaloon,
So threadbare are that both shall soon
Just fit but for mosquito nets,
Does ever he new garment gets?
The stuff has been bought long ago,
The tailor must be sent for though.
Master Pato's answer is:
"We have lots of time for this!"
And thus he passes all his days.

His fathers gave him means and ways.

And rich inheritance, but he

Of misery is never free.
Look 'not upon his faults with scorn:
As a Magyar he was born.
And his country's motto is:
"We have lots of time for this!"