Once there was a kettle-drum,
Rumble-bumble y rum-tum-tum.
One day he shook his empty head
And to his friend the trumpet said:
“Dear trumpet, you’re a lucky soul.
Your life is full of bliss:
Whoever wants to play on you
Must start off with a kiss.
And me, you can’t imagine, dear.
The sorry plight I’m in.
My drummer beats me with his sticks,
My skin is all worn thin.”
“Yes,” said the trumpet to the drum,
“My life is bright, and yours is glum
Although we’re carried side-by-side
When down the street the bandsmen stride.
“And yet it’s you that got yourself
In such a dreadful fix:
I’ve never seen you set to work
Until you’re thrashed with sticks!”
Жил-был на свете барабан,
Пустой, но очень громкий.
И говорит пустой буян
Трубе — своей знакомке:
— Тебе, голубушка-труба,
Досталась легкая судьба.
В тебя трубач твой дует,
Как будто бы целует.
А мне покоя не дает
Мой барабанщик рьяный.
Он больно палочками бьет
По коже барабанной!
— Да, — говорит ему труба, —
У нас различная судьба,
Хотя идем мы рядом
С тобой перед отрядом.
Себя ты должен, баловник,
Бранить за жребий жалкий.
Все дело в том, что ты привык
Работать из-под палки!
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