The wine has been forgotten.
SIEGFRIED.
Yes, I'll believe it. That may well befall
A hunter who is resting from the chase
And has a red hot coal for his own tongue
Inside his mouth. Well, I must seek myself,
Although I cannot scent it like a, hound—
But let it be—I'll never spoil your sport!
[He seeks.]
There is none here, nor here! Where is the cask?
I pray thee, minstrel, save me, else I'll lose
The tongue that has till now been wagging so.
HAGEN.
And that may happen, for—there is no wine.
SIEGFRIED.
The devil and his fiends may take your hunt
If I am not to have a hunter's fare!
Whose duty was it to provide the drink?