There came a-walking past the door
A coal-pitch-raven-black young Moor.
The sun it smote him on his smeller,
And so he hoisted his umbrella.
Now came young Ludwig running by,
A-waving, he, his flag on high.
And Kaspar flew to join the band,
His toothsome pretzel in his hand.
While in his wake skips William free,
With hair neat-combed and hoop, you see.
The three they Iaugh and scoff and wink,
And mock at that poor Missing Link,
Because his skin is black as ink.