A Street

Ah, bravo! Do I find you burning?Well, Margaret soon will still your yearning:At Neighbor Martha’s you’ll this evening meet.A fitter woman ne’er was madeTo ply the pimp and gypsy trade!

We’ve but to make a deposition validThat now her husband’s limbs, outstretched and pallid,At Padua rest, in consecrated soil.

Sancta simplicitas! no need of such a toil;Depose, with knowledge or without it, either!

Now, there you are! O holy man!Is it the first time in your life you’re drivenTo bear false witness in a case?Of God, the world and all that in it has a place,Of Man, and all that moves the being of his race,Have you not terms and definitions givenWith brazen forehead, daring breast?And, if you’ll probe the thing profoundly,Knew you so much—and you’ll confess it roundly!—As here of Schwerdtlein’s death and place of rest?

Yes, knew I not more deeply thy desire.For wilt thou not, no lover fairer,Poor Margaret flatter, and ensnare her,And all thy soul’s devotion swear her?

’Tis very fine!Thine endless love, thy faith assuring,The one almighty force enduring,—Will that, too, prompt this heart of thine?

Hold! hold! It will!—If such my flame,And for the sense and power intenseI seek, and cannot find, a name;Then range with all my senses through creation,Craving the speech of inspiration,And call this ardor, so supernal,Endless, eternal and eternal,—Is that a devilish lying game?

Mark this, I beg of thee!And spare my lungs henceforth: whoeverIntends to have the right, if but histongue be clever,Will have it, certainly.But come: the further talking bringsdisgust,For thou art right, especially since Imust.