Читать книгу The Greatest German Classics (Vol. 1-14) - Various - Страница 767

Think! only think! The gems for Gretchen brought,

Them hath a priest now made his own!—

A glimpse of them the mother caught,

And 'gan with secret fear to groan.

The woman's scent is keen enough;

Doth ever in the prayer-book snuff;

Smells every article to ascertain

Whether the thing is holy or profane,

And scented in the jewels rare,

That there was not much blessing there.

"My child," she cries; "ill-gotten good

Ensnares the soul, consumes the blood;

With them we'll deck our Lady shrine,

She'll cheer our souls with bread divine!"

At this poor Gretchen 'gan to pout;

'Tis a gift-horse, at least, she thought,

And sure, he godless cannot be,

Who brought them here so cleverly.

Straight for a priest the mother sent,

Who, when he understood the jest,

With what he saw was well content.

"This shows a pious mind!" Quoth he:

"Self-conquest is true victory.

The Church hath a good stomach, she, with zest,

Whole countries hath swallow'd down,

And never yet a surfeit known.

The Church alone, be it confessed,

Daughters, can ill-got wealth digest."