Why, thus:--
Near the town of Ratisbon
Two conspicuous hamlets lay,--
One of them called Agere,
The other called Mascarandon.
These two villages one priest,
An humble man of God, 'tis stated,
Served; and therefore celebrated
Mass in each on every feast.
And so one day it came to pass,
A native of Mascarandon
Who to Agere had gone
About the middle of the mass,
Heard the priest in solemn tone
Say, as he the _Preface_ read,
"Gratias agere," but said
Nothing of Mascarandon.
To the priest this worthy made
His angry plaint without delay:
"You give best thanks for Agere,
As if your tithes we had not paid!"
When this sapient reason reached
The noble Mascarandonese,
They stopped their hopeless pastor's fees,
Nor paid for what he prayed or preached;
He asked his sacristan the cause,
Who told him wherefore and because.
From that day forth when he would sing
The _Preface_, he took care t'intone,
Not in a smothered or weak way,
"_Tibi semper et ubique
Gratias--Mascarandon!_"
If from love,--that god so blind,--
Two parishes thou holdest, you
Are bound to gratify the two;
And after a few days you'll find,
If you do so, soon upon
You and me will fall good things,
When your Lordship sweetly sings
Flerida et Mascarandon.

FREDERICK--Think you I have heard your folly?

FABIO--If you listened, why not so?

FREDERICK--No: my mind can only know
Its one call of melancholy.

FABIO--Since you stick to Agere
And reject Mascarandon,
Every hope, I fear, is gone,
That love his generous dues will pay.

Translation of Denis Florence MacCarthy.

CYPRIAN'S BARGAIN

From 'The Wonderful Magician'

[The Demon, angered by Cyprian's victory in defending the existence of
God, swears vengeance. He resolves that Cyprian shall lose his soul for
Justina, who rejects his love. Cyprian says:--]

So bitter is the life I live,
That, hear me hell, I now would give
To thy most detested spirit
My soul forever to inherit,
To suffer punishment and pine,
So this woman may be mine.

[_The Demon accepts his soul and hastens to Justina._

JUSTINA--'Tis that enamored nightingale
Who gives me the reply:
He ever tells the same soft tale
Of passion and of constancy
To his mate, who, r