While bright as flame your wonted blaze is.
Brander.
The blame lies with yourself, for you have given us
To-day no fun nor frolic to enliven us.
Frosch. [throwing a glass of wine over his head]
There hast thou both!
Brander.
Double swine!
Frosch.
You asked a joke—I gave it you in wine!
Siebel.
Out at the door with all who dare to quarrel!
Give all your pipes full play! this is no place to snarl.
Up! hollo! ho!
Altmayer.
Woe’s me! the devil and his crew are here!
Some cotton, ho! he makes my ear-drum crack.
Siebel.
Roar on! for, when the vault loud echoes back,
The deep bass notes come thundering on the ear.
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,
