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BRANDER
A nasty song! Fie! a political song- A most offensive song! Thank G.o.d, each morning, therefore, That you have not the Roman realm to care for!
At least, I hold it so much gain for me, That I nor Chancellor nor Kaiser be.
Yet also we must have a ruling head, I hope, And so we'll choose ourselves a Pope.
You know the quality that can Decide the choice, and elevate the man.
FROSCH (sings)
Soar up, soar up, Dame Nightingale!
Ten thousand times my sweetheart hail!
SIEBEL
No, greet my sweetheart not! I tell you, I'll resent it.
FROSCH
My sweetheart greet and kiss! I dare you to prevent it!
(Sings.)
Draw the latch! the darkness makes: Draw the latch! the lover wakes.
Shut the latch! the morning breaks
SIEBEL
Yes, sing away, sing on, and praise, and brag of her!
I'll wait my proper time for laughter: Me by the nose she led, and now she'll lead you after.
Her paramour should be an ugly gnome, Where four roads cross, in wanton play to meet her: An old he-goat, from Blocksberg coming home, Should his good-night in l.u.s.tful gallop bleat her!
A fellow made of genuine flesh and blood Is for the wench a deal too good.
Greet her? Not I: unless, when meeting, To smash her windows be a greeting!
BRANDER (pounding on the table)
Attention! Hearken now to me!
Confess, Sirs, I know how to live.
Enamored persons here have we, And I, as suits their quality, Must something fresh for their advantage give.
Take heed! 'Tis of the latest cut, my strain, And all strike in at each refrain!
(He sings.)
There was a rat in the cellar-nest, Whom fat and b.u.t.ter made smoother: He had a paunch beneath his vest Like that of Doctor Luther.
The cook laid poison cunningly, And then as sore oppressed was he As if he had love in his bosom.
CHORUS (shouting)
As if he had love in his bosom!
BRANDER
He ran around, he ran about, His thirst in puddles laving; He gnawed and scratched the house throughout.
But nothing cured his raving.
He whirled and jumped, with torment mad, And soon enough the poor beast had, As if he had love in his bosom.
CHORUS
As if he had love in his bosom!
BRANDER
And driven at last, in open day, He ran into the kitchen, Fell on the hearth, and squirming lay, In the last convulsion twitching.
Then laughed the murderess in her glee: "Ha! ha! he's at his last gasp," said she, "As if he had love in his bosom!"
CHORUS
As if he had love in his bosom!
SIEBEL
How the dull fools enjoy the matter!
To me it is a proper art Poison for such poor rats to scatter.
BRANDER
Perhaps you'll warmly take their part?
ALTMAYER
The bald-pate pot-belly I have noted: Misfortune tames him by degrees; For in the rat by poison bloated His own most natural form he sees.
FAUST AND MEPHISTOPHELES
MEPHISTOPHELES
Before all else, I bring thee hither Where boon companions meet together, To let thee see how smooth life runs away.
Here, for the folk, each day's a holiday: With little wit, and ease to suit them, They whirl in narrow, circling trails, Like kittens playing with their tails?
And if no headache persecute them, So long the host may credit give, They merrily and careless live.
BRANDER
The fact is easy to unravel, Their air's so odd, they've just returned from travel: A single hour they've not been here.
FROSCH
You've verily hit the truth! Leipzig to me is dear: Paris in miniature, how it refines its people!
SIEBEL
Who are the strangers, should you guess?
