This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 189? edition. Excerpt: ...will? You really mean it?" He could hardly believe in such a piece of good luck, and doubted for a moment lest Hans might be playing some trick on him. "May I use it as my own?" he asked eagerly. "Just as you please." "And sing it to-day?" "If it is not too difficult." "I do trust he is up to no ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 189? edition. Excerpt: ...will? You really mean it?" He could hardly believe in such a piece of good luck, and doubted for a moment lest Hans might be playing some trick on him. "May I use it as my own?" he asked eagerly. "Just as you please." "And sing it to-day?" "If it is not too difficult." "I do trust he is up to no villainy," muttered Beckmesser to himself. Then, turning to Sachs--"And will you swear, when you hear this ong, my friend, you will not disclose that it was composed by you?" "I swear it! No one shall ever know the song was by me," answered Sachs. "But now, friend Beckmesser, one word of advice--see that you study this song carefully, and get a good melody to fit the words." "Friend Sachs! we all know you take the palm as poet. But as for tunes and tones, none can beat me in that line, you must allow. Now I am off, for there is no time to lose. Good-bye, dear friend! One day we shall see you as marker, never fear!' Marker Hans Sachs!' How fine it sounds." And off hobbled Beckmesser, highly pleased with himself and all the world. At Master Pogner's, over the way, all were in a great bustle. The place was strewed with ribbons, flags, and flowers; maids and pages flew hither and thither. Eva, in her room upstairs, had just received Lena's finishing touch to her festal dress. Arrayed in shimmering white and pearls, she stood now and gazed for a moment at the well-loved picture over her bed. "My poet-knight," she murmured; "if you do not win me to-day, no one else shall ever do so. I will live and die unwed" (tears filled her blue eyes at the dismal prospect) "if my hands do not crown you as victor this day." She looked...
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