er and chest,
And was portly as Doctor Luther.
The cook had set him poison one day;
From that time forward he pined away
As if he had love in his body.

_Chorus [flouting_]. As if he had love in his body.

_Brander_. He raced about with a terrible touse,
From all the puddles went swilling,
He gnawed and he scratched all over the house,
His pain there was no stilling;
He made full many a jump of distress,
And soon the poor beast got enough, I guess,
As if he had love in his body.

_Chorus_. As if he had love in his body.

_Brander_. With pain he ran, in open day,
Right up into the kitchen;
He fell on the hearth and there he lay
Gasping and moaning and twitchin'.
Then laughed the poisoner: "He! he! he!
He's piping on the last hole," said she,
"As if he had love in his body."

_Chorus_. As if he had love in his body.

_Siebel_. Just hear now how the ninnies giggle!
That's what I call a genuine art,
To make poor rats with poison wriggle!

_Brander_. You take their case so much to heart?

_Altmayer_. The bald pate and the butter-belly!
The sad tale makes him mild and tame;
He sees in the swollen rat, poor fellow!
His own true likeness set in a frame.

FAUST _and_ MEPHISTOPHELES.

_Mephistopheles_. Now, first of all, 'tis necessary
To show you people making merry,
That you may see how lightly life can run.
Each day to this small folk's a feast of fun;
Not over-witty, self-contented,
Still round and round in circle-dance they whirl,
As with their tails young kittens twirl.
If with no headache they're tormented,
Nor dunned by landlord for his pay,
They're careless, unconcerned, and gay.

_Brander_. They're fresh from travel, one might know it,
Their air and manner plainly show it;
They came here not an hour ago.

_Frosch_. Thou verily art right! My Leipsic well I know!
Paris in small it is, and cultivates its people.

_Siebel_. What do the strangers seem to thee?

_Frosch_. Just let me go! When wine our friendship mellows,
Easy as drawing a child's tooth 'twill be
To worm their secrets out of these two fellows.
They're of a noble house, I dare to swear,
They have a proud and discontented air.

_Brander_. They're mountebanks, I'll bet a dollar!

_Altmayer_. Perhaps.

_Frosch_. I'll smoke them, mark you that!

_Mephistopheles_ [_to Faust_]. These people never smell the old rat,
E'en when he has them by the collar.

_Faust_