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Eva.

Who was't? Sir Walter?

Magdalena.

Not he, nay:
Beckmesser.

Eva.

Worth hearing, I should say!

(They go into the house.)

Sachs, in light indoor dress, has re-entered the workshop. He turns to David, who is still at his workbench.

Sachs.

Come here!—that's right.—There by the door
Put my stool and work-bench before.—
Then get to bed! Earlier rise;
Sleep off your folly, to-morrow be wise!

David (arranging bench and stool).

Are you still working?

Sachs.

What's that to you?

David (aside).

What ailed Magdalena?—Would I knew!—
And why works my Master by this light?

Sachs.

Why wait you?

David.

Good night, Master!

Sachs.

Good night!

(Exit David in the inner room.)

Sachs
(arranges his work, sits on his stool at the door and then, laying down his tools again, leans back, resting his arm on the closed lower half of the door).

The elder's scent is waxing
So mild, so full and strong!
Its charm my limbs relaxing:
Words unto my lips would throng.—
What boot such thoughts as I can span?
I'm but a poor, plain-minded man!
When work's despised altogether,
Thou, friend, settest me free;
But I'd better stick to my leather
And let all this poetry be!—

(He tries again to work. Leaves off and reflects.)

And yet—it haunts me still.—
I feel but comprehend ill;—
Cannot forget it,—and yet cannot grasp it.—
I measure it not, e'en when I clasp it.—
But how then would I gauge it?
'Twas measureless to my mind;
No rule could fit it or cage it,
Yet there was no fault to find.
It seemed so old, yet new in its chime—
Like songs of birds in sweet May-time:—
He who heard
And, fancy-stirr'd,
Sought to repeat the strain,
But shame and scorn would gain.—
Spring's command
And gentle hand
His soul with this did entrust:
He sang because he must!
His power rose as needed;
That virtue well I heeded.
The bird who sang to-day
Has got a throat that rightly waxes;
Masters may feel dismay,
But well content with him Hans Sachs is.

(Eva comes out into the street, peeps shyly towards the workshop and advances unnoticed to the door by Sachs.)

Eva.

Good evening, Master! Still at labor?

Sachs (starting up in agreeable surprise).

Ah, child! Sweet Eva! still about?
And yet I guess the cause, fair neighbor:
The new-made shoes?

Eva.

How far you're out!
The shoes I have not even essay'd;
They are so fine, so richly made.
I dare not such gems to my feet confide.

Sachs.

You'll wear them, though, to-morrow as bride?

Eva
(who has now seated herself on the stone seat by Sachs).

Who is to be bridegroom then?

Sachs.

Can I tell?

Eva.

How know you I'm to be bride?

Sachs.

Eh, well!
Ev'ry one knows.

Eva.

Aye, ev'ry one knows.
That's proof positive, I suppose,
I thought you know more.

Sachs.

What should I know?

Eva.

See there! Must I my meaning show?
How dull I must be?

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