At least I count it a great gain that He
Kaiser nor
chancellor
has made of me.
Faust, a Tragedy by Goethe
lara da!
_Altmayer_. A! tara! lara da!
_Frosch_. Our whistles all are wet.
[_Sings_.]
The dear old holy Romish realm,
What holds it still together?
_Brander_. A sorry song! Fie! a political song!
A tiresome song! Thank God each morning therefor,
That you have not the Romish realm to care for!
At least I count it a great gain that He
Kaiser nor
chancellor
has made of me.
E'en we can't do without a head, however;
To choose a pope let us endeavour.
You know what qualification throws
The casting vote and the true man shows.
_Frosch [sings_].
Lady Nightingale, upward soar,
Greet me my darling ten thousand times o'er.
_Siebel_. No greetings to that girl! Who does so, I resent it!
_Frosch_. A greeting and a kiss! And you will not prevent it!
[_Sings.]_
Draw the bolts! the night is clear.
Draw the bolts! Love watches near.
