What matters an edge keen sharpened,
Unless hard and true the steel?
[Testing the sword.
Hei! What an idle,
Foolish toy!
Wouldst have this pin
Pass for a sword?
[He strikes it on the anvil, so that the splinters fly about. Mime shrinks back in terror.
There, take back the pieces,
Pitiful bungler!
'Tis on thy skull
It should have been broken!
Shall such a braggart
Still go on boasting,
Telling of giants
And prowess in battle,
Of deeds of valour,
And dauntless defence?—
A sword true and trusty
Try to forge me,
Praising the skill
He does not possess?
When I take hold
Of what he has hammered,
The rubbish crumbles
At a mere touch!
Were not the wretch
Too mean for my wrath,
I would break him in bits
As well as his work—
The doting fool of a gnome!—
And end the annoyance at once!
[Siegfried throws himself on to a stone seat in a rage. Mime all the time has been cautiously keeping out of his way.
MIME
Again thou ravest like mad,
Ungrateful and perverse.
If what for him I forge
Is not perfect on the spot,
Too soon the boy forgets
The good things I have made!
Wilt never learn the lesson
Of gratitude, I wonder?
Thou shouldst be glad to obey him
Who always treated thee well.
[Siegfried turns his back on Mime in a bad temper, and sits with his face to the wall.