[The minstrel's box. A kind of Pandora's Box story. Here the box is made of silver and is owned by a roving minstrel, who plays for the crowd at a market. One of the lads notices the silver box, and the crowd insist on opening it. The minstrel is against it, but the box is taken from him and opened. What it contained is anyone's guess - nobody survived to tell. And the minstrel - he was none other than the Devil himself.]
En vr morgen, da solen stod hjt, Til byen en spillemand kom, Han sat' sig og kigged' omkring, Og nu da skaren kom nrmere, begynt' han at spill'.
Byens godtfolk, de dansed' og lo, Som fortryllet af musikkens klang, Men en karl, han spejded' en ske, En slvdse, som spillemanden, han prved' at skul'.
"Spelmand, spelmand, spelmand, si' vos, wa' do har I ds, Spelmand, spelmand, spelmand, vis no, wa' der I ds."
Trods hans klager, rives dsen fra hans hnder, Da lget lftes blev himlen s sort som den mrkest' nat, De meldt' aldrig, hvad de s, ikke en sjl undslap.
Den aften da solen gik ned, L byen s underligt stil' Den fremmede, han var Fanden selv, Og nu, da mrket frembrd, s begyndt' han at spil'
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[The minstrel's box. A kind of Pandora's Box story. Here the box is made of silver and is owned by a roving minstrel, who plays for the crowd at a market. One of the lads notices the silver box, and the crowd insist on opening it. The minstrel is against it, but the box is taken from him and opened. What it contained is anyone's guess - nobody survived to tell. And the minstrel - he was none other than the Devil himself.]
En vr morgen, da solen stod hjt, Til byen en spillemand kom, Han sat' sig og kigged' omkring, Og nu da skaren kom nrmere, begynt' han at spill'.
Byens godtfolk, de dansed' og lo, Som fortryllet af musikkens klang, Men en karl, han spejded' en ske, En slvdse, som spillemanden, han prved' at skul'.
"Spelmand, spelmand, spelmand, si' vos, wa' do har I ds, Spelmand, spelmand, spelmand, vis no, wa' der I ds."
Trods hans klager, rives dsen fra hans hnder, Da lget lftes blev himlen s sort som den mrkest' nat, De meldt' aldrig, hvad de s, ikke en sjl undslap.
Den aften da solen gik ned, L byen s underligt stil' Den fremmede, han var Fanden selv, Og nu, da mrket frembrd, s begyndt' han at spil'
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