FROSCH (sings)

     Soar up, soar up, Dame Nightingale! 
     Ten thousand times my sweetheart hail!

SIEBEL

No, greet my sweetheart not!  I tell you, I’ll resent it.

FROSCH

My sweetheart greet and kiss!  I dare you to prevent it!

(Sings.)

Draw the latch! the darkness makes: 
Draw the latch! the lover wakes. 
Shut the latch! the morning breaks.

SIEBEL

Yes, sing away, sing on, and praise, and brag of her! 
I’ll wait my proper time for laughter: 
Me by the nose she led, and now she’ll lead you after. 
Her paramour should be an ugly gnome,
Where four roads cross, in wanton play to meet her: 
An old he-goat, from Blocksberg coming home,
Should his good-night in lustful gallop bleat her! 
A fellow made of genuine flesh and blood
Is for the wench a deal too good. 
Greet her?  Not I:  unless, when meeting,
To smash her windows be a greeting!

BRANDER (pounding on the table)

Attention!  Hearken now to me! 
Confess, Sirs, I know how to live. 
Enamored persons here have we,
And I, as suits their quality,
Must something fresh for their advantage give. 
Take heed!  ’Tis of the latest cut, my strain,
And all strike in at each refrain!

     (He sings.)

     There was a rat in the cellar-nest,
     Whom fat and butter made smoother: 
     He had a paunch beneath his vest
     Like that of Doctor Luther. 
     The cook laid poison cunningly,
     And then as sore oppressed was he
     As if he had love in his bosom.

     CHORUS (shouting)

     As if he had love in his bosom!

     BRANDER

     He ran around, he ran about,
     His thirst in puddles laving;
     He gnawed and scratched the house throughout. 
     But nothing cured his raving. 
     He whirled and jumped, with torment mad,
     And soon enough the poor beast had,
     As if he had love in his bosom.

     CHORUS

     As if he had love in his bosom!

     BRANDER

     And driven at last, in open day,
     He ran into the kitchen,
     Fell on the hearth, and squirming lay,
     In the last convulsion twitching. 
     Then laughed the murderess in her glee: 
     “Ha! ha! he’s at his last gasp,” said she,
     “As if he had love in his bosom!”

CHORUS

     As if he had love in his bosom!

SIEBEL

How the dull fools enjoy the matter! 
To me it is a proper art
Poison for such poor rats to scatter.

BRANDER