The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 01 · Chapter 49A Street
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How is it now? How speeds it? Is't in train?
Bravo! I find you all aflame! Gretchen full soon your own you'll name. This eve, at neighbor Martha's, her you'll meet again; The woman seems expressly made To drive the pimp and gipsy's trade.
Good!
But from us she something would request.
A favor claims return, as this world goes.
We have on oath but duly to attest That her dead husband's limbs, outstretch'd, repose In holy ground at Padua.
Sage indeed! So I suppose we straight must journey there!
Sancta simplicitas! For that no need! Without much knowledge we have but to swear.
If you have nothing better to suggest, Against your plan I must at once protest.
Oh, holy man! methinks I have you there! In all your life, say, have you ne'er False witness borne, until this hour? Have you of God, the world, and all it doth contain, Of man, and that which worketh in his heart and brain, Not definitions given, in words of weight and power, With front unblushing, and a dauntless breast? Yet, if into the depth of things you go, Touching these matters, it must be confess'd, As much as of Herr Schwerdtlein's death you know!
Thou art and dost remain liar and sophist too.
Ay, if one did not take a somewhat deeper view! Tomorrow, in all honor, thou Poor Gretchen wilt befool, and vow Thy soul's deep love, in lover's fashion.
And from my heart.
All good and fair! Then deathless constancy thou'lt swear; Speak of one all o'ermastering passion— Will that too issue from the heart?
Forbear! When passion sways me, and I seek to frame Fit utterance for feeling, deep, intense, And for my frenzy finding no fit name, Sweep round the ample world with every sense, Grasp at the loftiest words to speak my flame, And call the glow, wherewith I burn, Quenchless, eternal, yea, eterne— Is that of sophistry a devilish play?
Yet am I right!
Mark this, my friend, And spare my lungs; who would the right maintain, And hath a tongue wherewith his point to gain, Will gain it in the end. But come, of gossip I am weary quite; Because I've no resource, thou'rt in the right.