HANS the Butcher
Well, well—­

AXEL the Smith
God knows!
[The bell sounds]

HANS the Butcher
Neighbor, how fare your knees?
[AXEL smooths his right leg and gives a jerk of pain.  They all
move stiffly.

AXEL the Smith
I’m a changed man.

HANS the Butcher
  Peter the Sacristan,
Give by the bell!  It tolls like—­Oh, well, well!

AXEL the Smith
It does no good, it does no good at all.

PETER the Cobbler
Rather, I do believe it mads the demons;
And I have given much thought—­

AXEL the Smith
  Over thy shoes!

PETER the Cobbler
[modestly]
To demons.

AXEL’S WIFE
  Let him chirp philosophy! 
He had no children.

PETER the Cobbler
[wagging his head solemnly]
  I’m an altered man. 
Now were we not proceeding soberly,
Singing a godly hymn, and all in tune,
But yesterday, when we passed by—­

HANS’ WIFE
  Don’t say it! 
Don’t name the curseful place.

HANS the Butcher
  —­And my poor head,
It goes round yet;—­around, around, around,
As I were new ashore from the high seas;
Still dancing—­dancing—­

AXEL the Smith
  With ‘Yes—­yes!—­Yes—­yes!’

HANS the Butcher
Even as ye heard, the farmer’s yokel found me
Clasping a tree, and praying to stand still!

AXEL the Smith
Ay, ay,—­but that is nought.

PETER the Cobbler
  All nought beside.

HANS’ WIFE
Better we had the rats and mice again,
Though they did eat us homeless,—­if we might
All starve together!—­Oh, my Hans, my Hans!

PETER the Cobbler
Hope not, good souls.  Rest sure, they will not come.

AXEL’S WIFE
Who will say that?

PETER the Cobbler
[discreetly]
Not I; but the Inscription,
[He points to the Rathaus wall.]

AXEL the Smith
Of our own making?

PETER the Cobbler
  On the Rathaus wall! 
At our own bidding it was made and graved:—­
How,—­on that day and down this very street,
He led them,—­he, the Wonderfully-clothed,
The Strange Man, with his piping;
[They cross themselves]
  And they went,—­
And never came again.

HANS’ WIFE
  But they may come!

PETER the Cobbler
[pityingly]
Marble is final, woman;—­nay, poor soul! 
When once a man be buried, and over him
The stone doth say Hic Jacet, or Here Lies,
When did that man get up?—­There is the stone. 
They come no more, for piping or for prayer;
Until the trump of the Lord Gabriel. 
And if they came, ’tis not in Hamelin men
To alter any stone, so graven.—­Marble
Is final.  Marble has the last word, ever.
[Groans from the burghers.]

HANS the Butcher
O little Ilse!—­Oh! and Lump—­poor Lump! 
More than a dog could bear!—­More than a dog—­