SIEGFRIED
That I am hated
Pleases me;
But must I lose my life for thy pleasure?
MIME [Angrily.
I never said that;
Thou hast made a mistake.
See, thou art weary
From stress of strife,
Burning with fever and thirst;
Mime, the kind one,
To cool thy thirst
Brought a quickening draught.
While thy blade thou didst melt
I brewed thee the drink;
Touch it, and straight
Thy sword shall be mine,
And mine the hoard and Tarnhelm too.
[Tittering.
SIEGFRIED
So thou of my sword
And all it has won me—
Ring and booty—wouldst rob me?
MIME [Violently.
Why wilt mistake so my words!
Do I drivel or dote?
I use the utmost
Pains with my speech,
That what in my heart
I mean may be hidden;
And the stupid boy
Misunderstands what I say!
Open thy ears, boy,
And attend to me!
Hear, now, what Mime means.
Take this: the drink will refresh thee
As my drinks oft have done.
Many a time
When fretful and bad,
Though loth enough,
The draughts I brought thou hast swallowed.