No More Learning

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.
Close the bolts! the dawn is here.

_Siebel_. Ay, sing away and praise and glorify your dear!
Soon I shall have my time for laughter.
The jade has jilted me, and will you too hereafter;
May Kobold, for a lover, be her luck!