Translation by C. H. Hereford
MISS JAY. Fie, Mr. Falk, such sentiments are shocking.
ANNA [pensively]. Oh, I can understand the feeling quite; I am sure at bottom Mr. Falk is right.
MISS JAY [perturbed]. My Stiver mustn't listen to his mocking. He's rather too eccentric even now.-- My dear, I want you.
STIVER [occupied in cleaning his pipe]. Presently, my dear.
GULDSTAD [to FALK]. One thing at least to me is very clear;-- And this is that you cannot but allow Some forethought indispensable. For see, Suppose that you to-day should write a sonnet, And, scorning forethought, you should lavish on it Your last reserve, your all, of poetry, So that, to-morrow, when you set about Your next song, you should find yourself cleaned out, Heavens! how your friends the critics then would crow!
FALK. D'you think they'd notice I was bankrupt? No! Once beggared of ideas, I and they Would saunter arm in arm the selfsame way-- [Breaking off. But Lind! why, what's the matter with you, pray? You sit there dumb a