“My mother she killed me, My father he ate me, My sister, little Marlinchen, Gathered together all my bones, Tied them in a silken handkerchief, Laid them beneath the juniper-tree, Kywitt, kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!”

The shoemaker heard that and ran out of doors in his shirt sleeves, and looked up at his roof, and was forced to hold his hand before his eyes lest the sun should blind him. “Bird,” said he, “how beautifully thou canst sing!” Then he called in at his door, “Wife, just come outside, there is a bird, look at that bird, he just can sing well.” Then he called his daughter and children, and apprentices, boys and girls, and they all came up the street and looked at the bird and saw how beautiful he was, and what fine red and green feathers he had, and how like real gold his neck was, and how the eyes in his head shone like stars. “Bird,” said the shoemaker, “now sing me that song again.”

“Nay,” said the bird, “I do not sing twice for nothing; thou must give me something.”