"I'll warrant you have the song by heart," he said, narrowly eyeing the shoemaker.
"No, that I haven't. And further than that, I'll promise you not to lay any claim to it that shall thwart your use of it—if you really want it." Hans spoke carelessly, watching the greedy town clerk from the tail of his eye.
"You mean truly, that I may use that song as I like?"
"Sing it if you like—and know how," Sachs said obligingly.
"A song by Hans Sachs!" he exclaimed, unable to hide his joy—because no one in Nuremberg could possibly write a song like Sachs. "Well, well, this is very decent of you, Sachs! I can understand how anxious you are to make friends with me, after your bad treatment last night." Beckmesser spoke patronizingly, while his heart was fairly bursting with new hope. Any song by Hans Sachs would certainly win him the prize, even if he could but half sing it.
"If I am to oblige you by using this song," he hesitated, "then swear to me you will not undo me by laying claim to it." After all, he was feeling considerable anxiety about it. That he should be saved in this manner was quite miraculous.
"I'll give my oath never to claim it so long as I live," Sachs answered earnestly, thinking all the while what a rascal Beckmesser was. "But, friend Beckmesser, one word; I am no scoffer, but truly, knowing the song as I do, I have my doubts about your being able to learn it in an hour or so. The song is not easy."
"Have no fear, Hans Sachs. As a poet, your place is first, I know; but believe me, friend, when it comes to 'tone' and 'mode,' and the power to sing, I confess I have no fear—nor an equal," the conceited ass declared. "I tell you, confidentially, I have now no fear of that presumptuous fellow, Walther. With this song and my great genius, we shall no longer fear his bobbing upon the scene and doing harm." Assured of success at last, away went Beckmesser, limping and stumbling, to learn his song.
"Well, never did I see so malicious a fellow," Hans declared, as Beckmesser stumbled out of sight. "And there comes Evchen—hello, my Evchen, thou art dressed very fine. Well, well, it is to be thy wedding day, to be sure."
"Yes—but the shoe pinches," she said putting her little foot upon the bench.