KRIEMHILD.
And may he miss him! Yes, I wish it too.—
see thou art just like my uncle, Hagen,
Who, if one lays a garment by his bed,
That one has made in secret, will not heed
Unless perchance it is too tight.
SIEGFRIED.
And why?
KRIEMHILD.
Thou only see'st God's and nature's gifts
In all that's mine, but my own handiwork,
The raiment that adorns me, thou see'st not—
Not even the fair girdle that I wear.
SIEGFRIED.
The girdle's gay, and yet I'd rather wind
About thy waist the rainbow's lovely hue;
Methinks that ye would suit each other well.
KRIEMHILD.
But bring it me at night and I will change,
Yet do not throw it down like this I wear.
'Tis but by chance I did not lose thy gift.