'I find from Hermes Trismegist Gold yields itself unwilling; The sun is the true alchemist, All fluidly distilling. When through our veins 't has glowed and relled; With Eilfinger we try it; Then you have gold, have real gold, And honourably come by it. A. V. K. L. W. H. Hæc vera practica!' Then laughed the Abbot. 'That sounds fair; It sets me too to drinking, For All Voll, Keiner Leer, Wein Her! Is a wet fugue, I'm thinking. As Faust's gold-proverb it shall be Painted by the officials In the transept. All the melody Is found in the initials. A. V. K. L. W. H. Sit vino gloria!' DER ENDERLE VON KETSCH. This ballad is founded on an incident narrated in the description of the Palatinate by Merian (1645), where, speaking of the village Ketsch, he tells us that--'The Counte Palatine Otto Heinrich, afterwards Kurfürst, sailed in the yeere 1530 to the Holie Lande and to Jerusalem. Returning thence, hee came over the greate open sea where a shipp from Norwaie mett him, and from it there came this crye: "Flye, flye, for ye fatt Enderle von Ketsch cometh!" Now, the Counte Palatine and his Chancellor Mückenhäuser knew a godless wretche of this name who dwelte at Ketsch, and therefore whenn they returned home they inquired of ye fatt Enderle and of the tyme of his deathe, and observed that itt agreed withe the tyme whenn they did heare the crye upon ye sea, as Weyland, a Professor of Heidelberg; hath narrated in divers wrytings which hee left behinde.' The translator has endeavoured to give this version of the extract from Merian in English corresponding to the style of the original old German. Jetzt weicht, jetzt flieht! Jetzt weicht, jetzt flieht Mit Zittern und Zähnegefletsch: Jetzt weicht, jetzt flieht! Wir singen das Lied Vom Enderle von Ketsch! CHORUS. 'Away--along! Away--along! With, trembling, your jaws on the stretch. Away--along! We sing the song Of Enderle von Ketsch! SOLO. Ott Heinrich the Pfalzgrave of Rhine--oh! Spoke out of a morning; 'Rem blem! I'm tired of the sour Hock wine--oh! I'm off for Jerusalem. 'Far lovelier, neater, and nicer Are the maids there who give you the cup; Oh, Chancellor! oh, Mückenhäuser, Five thousand gold ducats pack up.' And as before Joppa they anchored The Chancellor held up his hand: 'Now drain to the dregs your last tankard, For the ducats are come to an end.'