As good as any other.
Musagetes.
This witch and wizard crew to lead,
My willing fancy chooses;
More hopeful field is here indeed,
Than when I lead the Muses.
Ci-devant Genius of the Age.
The Brocken has a good broad back,
Like the High-Dutch Parnassus;
The Jury here no man can pack,
Or with proud silence pass us.
Inquisitive Traveller.
Say, who is he so stiff that goes,
That stately-stalking stranger?
He snuffs for Jesuits with sharp nose,
And cries—the Church in danger!
Crane.
In muddy waters do I fish
As well as where it clear is,
And only for such cause as this
The pious man too here is.
Worldling.
Yes! though the saints declare that sin
And Blocksberg are identical,
Yet here, amid this demon din,
They’ll set up their conventicle.
Dancer.
A sound of drums! a sound of men!
That wafted on the wind came!—
The weary bitterns in the fen
Are booming—never mind ’em!
Dancing-Master.
Lo! how they kick, and how they jump!
How well each figure shown is!
Springs the crooked, hops the plump!
Each thinks him an Adonis!
A Good Fellow.
A sorry lot! What muffled ire
Their swelling breasts inflames here!
The beasts were tamed by Orpheus’ lyre,
