among them. 
True that the eldest already is taken; but there is the second
Still to be had, as well as the third; and not long so, it may be. 
I would never have lingered till now, had I been in thy place;
But had fetched one of the maidens, as once I bore off thy dear mother.” 
Modestly then did the son to the urgent father answer;
“Truly ’twas my wish too, as well as thine own, to have chosen
One of our neighbor’s daughters, for we had been brought up together;
Played, in the early days, about the market-place fountain;
And, from the other boys’ rudeness, I often have been their defender. 
That, though, is long since past:  the girls, as they grew to be older,
Properly stayed in the house, and shunned the more boisterous pastimes. 
Well brought up are they, surely!  I used sometimes to go over,
Partly to gratify thee, and because of our former acquaintance: 
But no pleasure I ever could take in being among them;
For I was always obliged to endure their censures upon me. 
Quite too long was my coat, the cloth too coarse, and the color
Quite too common; my hair was not cropped, as it should be, and frizzled. 
I was resolved, at last, that I, also, would dress myself finely,
Just as those office-boys do who always are seen there on Sundays,
Wearing in summer their half-silken flaps, that dangled about them;
But I discovered, betimes, they made ever a laughing-stock of me. 
And I was vexed when I saw it,—­it wounded my pride; but more deeply
Felt I aggrieved that they the good-will should so far misinterpret
That in my heart I bore them,—­especially Minna the youngest. 
It was on Easter-day that last I went over to see them;
Wearing my best new coat, that is now hanging up in the closet,
And having frizzled my hair, like that of the other young fellows. 
Soon as I entered, they tittered; but that not at me, as I fancied. 
Minna before the piano was seated; the father was present,
Hearing his daughters sing, and full of delight and good-humor. 
Much I could not understand of all that was said in the singing;
But of Pamina I often heard, and oft of Tamino: 
And I, besides, could not stay there dumb; so, as soon as she ended,
Something about the words I asked, and about the two persons. 
Thereupon all were silent and smiled; but the father made answer: 
‘Thou knowest no one, my friend, I believe, but Adam and Eve?’
No one restrained himself longer, but loud laughed out then the maidens,
Loud laughed out the boys, the old man held his sides for his laughing. 
I, in embarrassment, dropped my hat, and the giggling continued,
On and on and on, for all they kept playing and singing. 
Back to the house here I hurried, o’ercome with shame and vexation,
Hung up my coat in the closet, and pulled out the curls with my fingers,
Swearing that never again my foot should cross over that threshold. 
And I was perfectly right; for vain are the maidens, and heartless. 
E’en to this day, as I hear, I am called by them ever ‘Tamino.’”