’Tis all your fault; your part you do not bear,
No beastliness, no folly.
FROSCH (pours a glass of wine over his head)
You have them both!
You double beast!
’Tis what you ask’d me for, at least!
Whoever quarrels, turn him out!
With open throat drink, roar, and shout.
Hollo! Hollo! Ho!
Zounds, fellow, cease your deaf’ning cheers!
Bring cotton-wool! He splits my ears.
’Tis when the roof rings back the tone,
Then first the full power of the bass is known.
Right! out with him who takes offence!
A! tara lara da!
A! tara lara da!
Our throats are tuned. Come, let’s commence!
The holy Roman empire now,
How holds it still together?
An ugly song! a song political!
A song offensive! Thank God, every morn,
To rule the Roman empire that you were not born!
I bless my stars at least that mine is not
Either a kaiser’s or a chancellor’s lot.
Yet, ’among ourselves, should one still lord it o’er the rest;
That we elect a pope I now suggest.
Ye know what quality insures
A man’s success, his rise secures.
Bear, lady nightingale above,
Ten thousand greetings to my love.
No greetings to a sweetheart! No love-songs shall there be!
Love-greetings and love-kisses! Thou shalt not hinder me!
Undo the bolt! in stilly night,
Undo the bolt! the lover wakes.
Shut to the bolt! when morning breaks.
Ay, sing, sing on, praise her with all thy might!
My turn to laugh will come some day.
Me hath she jilted once, you the same trick she’ll play.
Some gnome her lover be! where cross-roads meet,
With her to play the fool; or old he-goat,
From Blocksberg coming in swift gallop, bleat
A good night to her from his hairy throat!
A proper lad of genuine flesh and blood,
Is for the damsel far too good;
The greeting she shall have from me,
To smash her window-panes will be!