Before the gate of the town.

Motley groups of people crowding out to walk.

Some Journeymen. Brethren, whither bound?

Others. To the Jægerhaus.

The First. We to the mill.

A Journeyman. At Wasserhof best cheer is to be found.

A Second. But then the road is not agreeable.

The Others. And what dost thou?

A Third. I go where others go.

A Fourth. Let’s go to Burgdorf; there you’ll find, I know, The best of beer, and maidens to your mind, And roaring frolics too, if that’s your kind.

A Fifth. Thou over-wanton losel, thou! Dost itch again for some new row? I loathe the place; and who goes thither, He and I don’t go together.

A Servant Girl. No! no! back to the town I’d rather fare.

Another. We’re sure to find him ’neath the poplars there.

The First. No mighty matter that for me, Since he will walk with none but thee, In every dance, too, he is thine: What have thy joys to do with mine?

The Other. To-day he’ll not come single; sure he said That he would bring with him the curly-head.

Student. Blitz, how the buxom wenches do their paces! Come, let us make acquaintance with their faces. A stiff tobacco, and a good strong beer, And a fine girl well-rigged, that’s the true Burschen cheer!

Burghers’ Daughters. Look only at those spruce young fellows there! In sooth, ’tis more than one can bear; The best society have they, if they please, And run after such low-bred queans as these!

Second Student. [to the first] Not quite so fast! there comes a pair behind, So smug and trim, so blithe and debonair; And one is my fair neighbor, I declare; She is a girl quite to my mind. They pass along so proper and so shy, And yet they’ll take us with them by and by.

First Student. No, no! these girls with nice conceits they bore you, Have at the open game that lies before you! The hand that plies the busy broom on Monday, Caressed her love the sweetest on the Sunday.

A Burgher. No! this new burgomaster don’t please me, Now that he’s made, his pride mounts high and higher; And for the town, say, what does he? Are we not deep and deeper in the mire? In strictness day by day he waxes, And more than ever lays on taxes.

A Beggar. [singing] Ye gentle sirs, and ladies fair, With clothes so fine, and cheeks so red, O pass not by, but from your eye Be pity’s gracious virtue shed! Let me not harp in vain; for blest Is he alone who gives away; And may this merry Easter-feast Be for the poor no fasting day!

Another Burgher. Upon a Sunday or a holiday, No better talk I know than war and warlike rumors, When in Turkey far away, The nations fight out their ill humors. We sit i’ the window, sip our glass at ease, And see how down the stream the gay ships gently glide; Then wend us safely home at even-tide, Blessing our stars we live in times of peace.

Third Burgher. Yea, neighbor, there you speak right wisely; Ev’n so do I opine precisely. They may split their skulls, they may, And turn the world upside down, So long as we, in our good town, Keep jogging in the good old way.

Old Woman. [to the Burghers’ Daughters.] Hey-day, how fine! these be of gentle stuff, The eyes that would not look on you are blind. Only not quite so high! ’Tis well enough— And what you wish I think I know to find.

First Burgher’s Daughter. Agatha, come! I choose not to be seen With such old hags upon the public green; Though on St. Andrew’s night she let me see My future lover bodily.

Second Burgher’s Daughter. Mine too, bold, soldier-like, she made to pass, With his wild mates, before me in a glass; I hunt him out from place to place, But nowhere yet he shows his face.

Soldiers. Castles and turrets And battlements high, Maids with proud spirits, And looks that defy! From the red throat of death, With the spear and the glaive, We pluck the ripe glory That blooms for the brave.

The trumpet invites him, With soul-stirring call, To where joy delights him, Nor terrors appall. On storming maintains he Triumphant the field, Strong fortresses gains he, Proud maidens must yield. Thus carries the soldier The prize of the day, And merrily, merrily Dashes away!