This cant about posterity I hate; About posterity were I to prate, Who thenthe living would amuse? For they Will have diversion, ay, and 'tis their due. Asprightly fellow's presence at your play, Methinks should also count forsomething too; Whose genial wit the audience still inspires, Knows from theirchangeful mood no angry feeling; A wider circle he desires, To their heart'sdepths more surely thus appealing. To work, then! Give a master - piece, myfriend; Bring Fancy with her choral trains before us, Sense, reason, feeling,passion, but attend! Let folly also swell the tragic chorus.Manager
Your parting soul to God commend! Your dying breath in slander will youspend?
Welcome sweet twilight, calm and blest, That in this hallow'd precinct reigns!Fond yearning love, inspire my breast, Feeding on hope's sweet dew thyblissful pains! What stillness here environs me! Content and order broodaround. What fulness in this poverty! In this small cell what bliss profound!(He throws himself on the leather arm - chair beside the bed)Receive me thou, who hast in thine embrace, Welcom'd in joy and grief theages flown! How oft the children of a by - gone race Have cluster'd round thispatriarchal throne! Haply she, also, whom I hold so dear, For Christmas gift,with grateful joy possess'd, Hath with the full round cheek of childhood, here,Her grandsire's wither'd hand devoutly press'd. Maiden! I feel thy spirit hauntthe place, Breathing of order and abounding grace. As with a mother's voice itprompteth thee, The pure white cover o'er the board to spread, To strew thecrisping sand beneath thy tread. Dear hand! so godlike in its ministry! The hutbecomes a paradise through thee! And here - (He raises the bed - curtain.)How thrills my pulse with strange delight! Here could I linger hours untold;Thou, Nature, didst in vision bright, The embryo angel here unfold. Here laythe child, her bosom warm With life; while steeped in slumber's dew, Toperfect grace, her godlike form, With pure and hallow'd weavings grew!And thou! ah here what seekest thou? How quails mine inmost being now!What wouldst thou here? what makes thy heart so sore? Unhappy Faust! Iknow thee now no more.
(boring a hole in the edge of the table opposite to where Frosch is sitting)Give me a little wax - and make some stoppers - quick!Altmayer}