We sing and tell of the Count so gladly, 
Who here in the castle resided,
Here where you, for the grandson of that blessed man,
Who today is getting married, are feasting.
Now, that old one had, in the Holy War,
Fought for glory through many victories,
And as he, back home, dismounted his little horse,
He found his little castle up above,
But his servants and possessions were scattered.

There you are, little Count, there you are at home,
You find your domestic affairs much worse,
Through the window blow the winds,
They come through all the rooms.
What was to be done that Autumn night?
Well, I've spent many a worse one -
The morning made everything much better.
So quick, by the moon's brightness,
To bed, in the straw, into the bedstead.

And as he lay thus in willing slumber,
Stirred itself under the bed
The rat, it rustled, as well it may,
If only it had a breadcrumb.
But look, there stands a tiny thing,
A little dwarf so dainty with a lantern,
With an orator's bearing and a speaker's gravity
At the feet of the weary Count,
Who, though he wasn't asleep, would have liked to have been.

"We have allowed ourself a party up here,
Since you left the rooms,
And since we thought you far away,
We even thought of feasting,
And if you don't begrudge it, and if you're not horrified,
Then we dwarfs will sup comfortably and loud
To the glory of our rich and sweet bride."
The Count in the pleasure of his dreams:
"You can always help yourselves to the room!"

There come three riders, they ride out,
That had been under the bed;
Then follows a singing, ringing choir 
Of funny little people,
And wagon on wagon with every kind of equipment,
So as to completely overwhelm one,
As only occurs in the castles of kings,
Last of all, on a gold-plated carriage
The bride and guests are carried.

Now they all run at a full gallop
And choose their little place in the hall,
For the spinning, waltzing and joyful hop
Each selects his little sweetheart.
There's piping and fiddling and playing and klinking,
There's turning and sliding and rustling and whirling,
There's spattering and crackling and snackling and buzzing,
The Count looks over it all,
It seems to him that he has a fever.

Now there's tapping and rapping and clattering in the hall
Of benches and chairs and tables,
Everyone at the festive meal
Wants to quaff next to their darling.
They bring in the sausages and tiny little hams
And roasts and fish and poultry;
The delicious wine circles constantly;
The rumbling and cuddling went on so long, 
Eventually dying away with singing.

And if you want us to sing about what happened next, 
Then hush the charging about and muttering,
For what he witnessed so sweetly done in miniature,
He went on to experience and enjoy in full size:
Trumpets and playing, singing hoards
And riders and chariots and a bride's entourage,
They all come and show themselves and bow,
Countless blessed people,
So it went, and so it goes today!