The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 01 · Chapter 61Manager
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Vales, where mists still shift and play, To ancient hill succeeding,— These our scenes;—so we, today, May rest, brave sons of Mieding.
That the marriage golden be, Must fifty years be ended; More dear this feast of gold to me, Contention now suspended.
Spirits, if present, grace the scene, And if with me united, Then gratulate the king and queen, Their troth thus newly plighted!
Puck draws near and wheels about, In mazy circles dancing! Hundreds swell his joyous shout, Behind him still advancing.
Ariel wakes his dainty air, His lyre celestial stringing.— Fools he lureth, and the fair, With his celestial singing.
Wedded ones, would ye agree, We court your imitation: Would ye fondly love as we, We counsel separation.
If husband scold and wife retort, Then bear them far asunder; Her to the burning south transport, And him the North Pole under.
THE WHOLE ORCHESTRA (fortissimo)
Flies and midges all unite With frog and chirping cricket, Our orchestra throughout the night, Resounding in the thicket!
(Solo)
Yonder doth the bagpipe come! Its sack an airy bubble. Schnick, schnick, schnack, with nasal hum, Its notes it doth redouble.
Spider's foot and midge's wing, A toad in form and feature; Together verses it can string, Though scarce a living creature.
Tiny step and lofty bound, Through dew and exhalation; Ye trip it deftly on the ground, But gain no elevation.
Can I indeed believe my eyes? Is't not mere masquerading? What! Oberon in beauteous guise, Among the groups parading!
No claws, no tail to whisk about, To fright us at our revel; Yet like the gods of Greece, no doubt, He too's a genuine devil.
These that I'm hitting off today Are sketches unpretending; Toward Italy without delay, My steps I think of bending.
Alas! ill-fortune leads me here, Where riot still grows louder; And 'mong the witches gather'd here, But two alone wear powder!
Your powder and your petticoat, Suit hags, there's no gainsaying; Hence I sit fearless on my goat, My naked charms displaying.
We're too well-bred to squabble here, Or insult back to render; But may you wither soon, my dear, Although so young and tender.
Nose of fly and gnat's proboscis, Throng not the naked beauty! Frogs and crickets in the mosses, Keep time and do your duty!
WEATHERCOCK (toward one side)
What charming company I view Together here collected! Gay bachelors, a hopeful crew, And brides so unaffected!
WEATHERCOCK (toward the other side)
Unless indeed the yawning ground Should open to receive them, From this vile crew, with sudden bound, To Hell I'd jump and leave them.
With small sharp shears, in insect guise, Behold us at your revel! That we may tender, filial-wise, Our homage to the devil.