5. EXTRACT FROM A LETTER.
(The Sun speaks.)
What matter all my looks to thee?
It is the well-known right of the sun
To shed down his rays on ev’ry one;
I beam because ’tis proper for me.
What matter all my looks to thee?
Thy duties bear in mind, poor elf;
Quick, marry, and get a son to thyself,
And so a German worthy be!
I beam because ’tis proper for me.
I wander up and down in the sky,
From mere ennui I peep from on high—
What matter all my looks to thee?
(The Poet speaks.)
It is in truth my special merit
That I can bear thy radiant light,
Pledge of an endless youthful spirit,
Thou dazzling beauty, blest and bright.
But now mine eyes are growing weary,
On my poor eyelids fast are falling,
Like a black covering, the dreary
Dark shades of night with gloom appalling.
(Chorus of Monkeys.)
We monkeys, we monkeys,
Like impudent flunkies,
Stare at the sun,
Who can’t prevent its being done.