This must be
masquerade!
Faust, a Tragedy by Goethe
If she pouts and he looks grim,
Take them both together,
To the north pole carry him,
And off with her to t'other.
_Orchestra Tutti_.
_Fortissimo_. Fly-snouts and gnats'-noses, these,
And kin in all conditions,
Grass-hid crickets, frogs in trees,
We take for our musicians!
_Solo_. See, the Bagpipe comes! fall back!
Soap-bubble's name he owneth.
How the _Schnecke-schnicke-schnack_
Through his snub-nose droneth!
_Spirit that is just shaping itself_. Spider-foot, toad's-belly, too,
Give the child, and winglet!
'Tis no animalcule, true,
But a poetic thinglet.
_A pair of lovers_. Little step and lofty bound
Through honey-dew and flowers;
Well thou trippest o'er the ground,
But soarst not o'er the bowers.
_Curious traveller_.
This must be masquerade!
How odd!
My very eyes believe I?
Oberon, the beauteous God
Here, to-night perceive I!
_Orthodox_. Neither claws, nor tail I see!
And yet, without a cavil,
Just as "the Gods of Greece"[42] were, he
Must also be a devil.
_Northern artist_. What here I catch is, to be sure,
But sketchy recreation;
And yet for my Italian tour
'Tis timely preparation.
_Purist_. Bad luck has brought me here, I see!
The rioting grows louder.
And of the whole witch company,
There are but two, wear powder.
_Young witch_. Powder becomes, like petticoat,
Your little, gray old woman:
Naked I sit upon my goat,
And show the untrimmed human.
_Matron_.
Take them both together,
To the north pole carry him,
And off with her to t'other.
_Orchestra Tutti_.
_Fortissimo_. Fly-snouts and gnats'-noses, these,
And kin in all conditions,
Grass-hid crickets, frogs in trees,
We take for our musicians!
_Solo_. See, the Bagpipe comes! fall back!
Soap-bubble's name he owneth.
How the _Schnecke-schnicke-schnack_
Through his snub-nose droneth!
_Spirit that is just shaping itself_. Spider-foot, toad's-belly, too,
Give the child, and winglet!
'Tis no animalcule, true,
But a poetic thinglet.
_A pair of lovers_. Little step and lofty bound
Through honey-dew and flowers;
Well thou trippest o'er the ground,
But soarst not o'er the bowers.
_Curious traveller_.
This must be masquerade!
How odd!
My very eyes believe I?
Oberon, the beauteous God
Here, to-night perceive I!
_Orthodox_. Neither claws, nor tail I see!
And yet, without a cavil,
Just as "the Gods of Greece"[42] were, he
Must also be a devil.
_Northern artist_. What here I catch is, to be sure,
But sketchy recreation;
And yet for my Italian tour
'Tis timely preparation.
_Purist_. Bad luck has brought me here, I see!
The rioting grows louder.
And of the whole witch company,
There are but two, wear powder.
_Young witch_. Powder becomes, like petticoat,
Your little, gray old woman:
Naked I sit upon my goat,
And show the untrimmed human.
_Matron_.
