Who knows what more he may mean or get?
(Slyly.)
For all-day's evening isn't come yet.
FIRST YAGER.
He was little at first, though now so great-
For at Altorf, in student's gown he played
By your leave, the part of a roaring blade,
And rattled away at a queerish rate.
His fag he had well nigh killed by a blow,
And their Nur'mburg worships swore he should go
To jail for his pains-if he liked it or no.
'Twas a new-built nest to be christened by him
Who first should be lodged. Well, what was his whim?
Why, he sent his dog forward to lead the way,
And they call the jail from the dog to this day.
That was the game a brave fellow should play,
And of all the great deeds of the general, none
E'er tickled my fancy, like this one.
[During this speech, the second Yager has begun toying
with the girl who has been in waiting.]
DRAGOON (stepping between them).
Comrade-give over this sport, I pray.
SECOND YAGER.
Why, who the devil shall say me nay!
DRAGOON.
I've only to tell you the girl's my own.
FIRST YAGER.
Such a morsel as this, for himself alone!-
Dragoon, why say, art thou crazy grown?
SECOND YAGER.
In the camp to be keeping a wench for one!
No! the light of a pretty girl's face must fall,
Like the beams of the sun, to gladden us all.
(Kisses her.)
DRAGOON (tears her away).
I tell you again, that it shan't be done.
FIRST YAGER.
The pipers are coming, lads! now for fun!
SECOND YAGER (to Dragoon).
I shan't be far off, should you look for me.
SERGEANT.
Peace, my good fellows!-a kiss goes free.
SCENE VIII.
Enter Miners, and play a waltz-at first slowly, and
afterwards quicker. The first Yager dances with the girl,
the Sutler-woman with the recruit. The girl springs away,
and the Yager, pursuing her, seizes hold of a Capuchin
Friar just entering.
CAPUCHIN.
Hurrah! halloo! tol, lol, de rol, le!
The fun's at its height! I'll not be away!
Is't an army of Christians that join in such works?
Or are we all turned Anabaptists and Turks?
Is the Sabbath a day for this sport in the land,
As though the great God had the gout in his hand,
And thus couldn't smite in the midst of your band?
Say, is this a time for your revelling shouts,
For your banquetings, feasts, and holiday bouts?
Quid hic statis otiosi? declare
Why, folding your arms, stand ye lazily there?
While the furies of war on the Danube now fare
And Bavaria's bulwark is lying full low,
And Ratisbon's fast in the clutch of the foe.
Yet, the army lies here in Bohemia still,
And caring for naught, so their paunches they fill!
Bottles far rather than battles you'll get,
And your bills than your broad-swords more readily wet;
With the wenches, I ween, is your dearest concern,
And you'd rather roast oxen than Oxenstiern.
In sackcloth and ashes while Christendom's grieving,
No thought has the soldier his guzzle of leaving.
'Tis a time of misery, groans, and tears!
Portentous the face of the heavens appears!
And forth from the clouds behold blood-red,
The Lord's war-mantle is downward spread-
While the comet is thrust as a threatening rod,
From the window of heaven by the hand of God.
The world is but one vast house of woe,
The ark of the church stems a bloody flow,
The Holy Empire-God help the same!
Has wretchedly sunk to a hollow name.
The Rhine's gay stream has a gory gleam,
The cloister's nests are robbed by roysters;
The church-lands now are changed to lurch-lands;
Abbacies, and all other holy foundations
