Frosch.
Right, right! out with each saucy fellow!
A! tara lara da!
Altmayer.
A tara lara da!
Frosch.
Our throats are now quite mellow.
[Sings.] The holy Roman empire now,
How does it hold together?
A clumsy song!—fie! a political song!
A scurvy song! thank God, with each to-morrow,
The Roman empire can give you small sorrow;
For me, I deem I’m wealthier and wiser
For being neither Chancellor nor Kaiser.
Yet even we must have a head to rule us;
Let’s choose a pope in drinking well to school us,
Come, well you know the qualification
That lifts a man to consideration.
Frosch. [sings]
Mount up, lady nightingale,
Greet my love ten thousand times!
Siebel.
No, sir, not once,—I’ll hear no more of this.
Frosch.
But you shall hear!—A greeting and a kiss!
[He sings.] Ope the door in silent night.
Ope and let me in, I pray;
Shut the door, the morn is bright,
Shut it, love, I must away!
Siebel.
Yes! sing and sing! belaud her, and berhyme!
I’ll have my laugh at that—all in good time!
She jilted me right rarely; soon
She’ll make thee sing to the same tune;
’Twere fit a Kobold with his love should bless her,
On some cross-road to cocker and caress her;
Or that some old he-goat, that tramps away
From merry Blocksberg on the first of May,
Should greet her passing with a lusty baa!
An honest man of genuine flesh and blood
Is for the wench by far too good.
Batter her doors, her windows shiver,
That’s all the serenade I’d give her!
Brander. [striking the table]
Gentlemen, hear! only attend to me,
You’ll see that I know how to live.
If love-sick people here there be,
To honor them, I’m bound to give
A song brimful of the most melting passion.
I’ll sing a ditty of the newest fashion!
