In my garden there are signs of trouble:
Monster rabbits come to eat,
Seeking herbs to fill 'em. . .
Lettuce feast.

I wish I had some ars'nic;
I would dose 'em with it till they're greased--
Seed the herbs to kill 'em. . .
Let 'em feast.

"Let us feast, let us feast, let us feast, let us feast."
With these words I fill them:
"Let us feast."

Now all those broken plants--also the chard--
Are worthless stumps I see.
I'll manage my anger, which won't cease.
Although it will be hard, I'll go resignedly to get my piece
I'll direct my anger at the beasts.

At the beasts. . . .

The magnum reports loudly;
The flame from the barrel shines on me.
Lying in their burrow, rabbits sleep.
They don't wake up; in the ground they'll stick
Monster rabbits cease to be.
I have with lead filled 'em.
End of feasts.

End of feasts. . . .