I thought to see again... The deuce... why reopen old wounds? Life is short. Enjoy it while we can. We must drink, sing, laugh, as we may, Left to weep to-morrow!
Then sing the first without asking, We'll do chorus.
No, for me, I'm tired of it. What we want is the legend Of Klein-Zach...
Here goes for Klein-Zach!... Once at the court of Eysenach A little dwarf called Klein-Zach, Was covered o'er with a colbac, And his legs they went clic, clac! Clic, clac. There's Klein-Zach.
He had a hump in place of stomach, His webbed feet seemed to burst a sack, His nose was with tobacco black. And his head it went crick crack, Crick, crack. There's Klein-Zach.
Oh, her face was charming... I see it, Fine as the day, running after her, I, like a fool, left the house paternal, And fled there'on to woods and vales Her hair, in sombre rolls, On her neck threw warm shades, Her eyes of enveloping azure, Cast about glances fresh and pure. And as our car without shock or tremor Carried our loves and hearts, her vibrant voice and sweet, To the heav'ns that listened, threw the conq'ring cry, And the eternal echo resounded in my heart.
Oh strangest brain! Who are you painting! Klein-Zach?
Nobody... nothing, my spirit is dullish. Nothing. Klein-Zach is better, malformed as he is!
Peuh!... this beer is detestable, Let's light up the punch and drink; And may the light-headed Roll under the table.
And may the light headed Roll under the table.
(The lights go out, Luther fires an immense punch bowl.)
Luther is a brave man, Tire la laire, Tire lan la. 'Tis to-morrow that we poison him, Tire lan laire, Tire lan la. His cellar is a goodly spot, Tire lan laire. 'Tis to-morrow we will make it hot, Tire lan laire, Tire lan la.
Very good, indeed. At least we are pruned With reason and practical sense! Away with languorous hearts.
You need not blush, I imagine Our friend Wilhelm who's there, Burns for Leonor and finds her divine. Hermann loves Gretchen and I am near ruined For the Fausta.
Yes, Gretchen, thy doll inert, of icy heart.
And thy Fausta, poor insensate, The courtezan with front of brass.
Morose spirit, Many thanks for Fausta, Gretchen and Leonore!...
Then your mistress is such a treasure That you despise so much our own?