FROSCH.

You would have it, one must be so.

SIEBEL.

Who quarrels, we will shew the door;
Good fellows all, sing, shout, and roar,
And swill away, Ho! Hollo! Ho!

ALTMAJER.

Oh, mercy, bring some cotton here,
I'm floored, the fellow splits my ear.

SIEBEL.

When the arches re-echo the thundering peal, The majestical might of the base you may feel.*

FROSCH.

He that can't take a joke, to the door be he shewn, Ah, tara, lara, da.

ALTMAJER.

Ah, tara, lara, da.

FROSCH.

Our throats now are tuned to the orthodox tone.

*Basses Grundgewalt, the fundamental might of the base.

Sings.

The holy Roman empire, how

The dear old lady holds till now,—

BRANDER.

A hideous song-fie, a political lay;

A tiresome song; be thankful, day by day,
That to the cares of state you've nought to say;
At least I hold it all clear gain to me,
Nor Emperor nor Chancellor to be;
But without a chairman our sport to direct,
We never can get on, so a pope* we'll elect.
Ye all know right well, what qualification

+Turns the balance, and leads to the man's elevation.

FROSCH. (Sings.)

Up, up! Lady Nightingale, up on the wing,
Ten thousand salutes to my sweetheart to sing.

* The electing what may be called master of the revels, has been common to all ages and countries; but the form of expression used by Brander, implied a confession of faith besides, its irreverent use of the Pope's name being understood to convey a renunciation of his authority.

+ Den ausschlag gibt, the tongue of the scales, striking out to one side, indicating to which side the scale inclines.

SIEBEL.

No salute to the sweetheart, I'll stand no such thing.

FROSCH.

Ay, salute to the sweetheart, and many a kiss,
Neither you nor aught other shall hinder me this.

Sings.

Open bolt, 'tis solemn night;
Open bolt, the loved one watches

Shut bolt, 'tis morning's light.

SIEBEL.

Ay, sing and praise her in your senseless catches,
I, in my turn, will laugh to see

Her humbug you as she humbugged me.

For a lover a Cobold be on her bestowed,

That will woo her, as fit, on a ghostly cross-road.
Or a rough old he-goat, from the Blocksberg returning,
On his gallop may nod her good-night or good-morn-
ing;

But a gallant young fellow of true flesh and blood,
For a wench such as that is a great deal too good.
For her no salute will I hear of at all,

Unless smashing her windows, saluting you call.

BRANDER-striking the table.

Attend, attend! obedience give!

Admit that I know how to live.

Lovesick folks are sitting round,
From me they something shall receive
Suited to their situation,

A treat before we bid good-night.
Silence. A song of bran new fashion,
And join the chorus main and might.

He sings.

A rat did in the cellar dwell;

He lived on fat and butter,
Until his paunch began to swell

As round as Doctor Luther.

The cook set poison on the floor;
Ah, then the world pinched him sore,
As in his body Love he bore.

Chorus.

As in his body Love he bore.

BRANDER.

Raced here and there, raced in and out,

And every puddle sought;

He gnawed and scratched the house throughout, His rage availed him nought;

Gave many a jump of anguish sore;
Soon with the poor beast all was o'er,
As in his body Love he bore.

At last for pain, in open day

The kitchen entered he,

Fell on the hearth, and writhed and lay, And panted piteously.

With laughter did the poisoner roar ; Ah soon, said she, he'll gape no more, As in his body Love he bore.

SIEBEL.

How they rejoice, these fellows rude,
A proper art, it seems to me,
For the poor rats that poison strewed.

BRANDER.

They in your favour seem to be.

ALTMAJER.

The fat man with the pate so bald,
With ill-luck, tame, and mild is he,

In the swollen rat he doth behold
His likeness, like as like can be.