FROSCH
Our throats are tuned. Come, let's commence!
(Sings)
The holy Roman empire now,
How holds it still together?
BRANDER
An ugly song! a song political!
A song offensive! Thank God, every morn,
To rule the Roman empire that you were not born!
I bless my stars at least that mine is not
Either a kaiser's or a chancellor's lot.
Yet, 'among ourselves, should one still lord it o'er the rest;
That we elect a pope I now suggest.
Ye know what quality insures
A man's success, his rise secures.
FROSCH (sings)
Bear, lady nightingale above,
Ten thousand greetings to my love.
SIEBEL
No greetings to a sweetheart! No love-songs shall there be!