i am plog, the smith, and you are the squire jns.
have you seen my wife?
well, in that case you haven't seen her.
do you know anything?
excuse me, but has anyone here seen my wife?
they say she's run away.
with an actor.
you're right. my first thought, of course, was to kill her.
i'm also going to kill the actor.
of course, the one she eloped with.
are you stupid?
you see, my wife has always been interested in the tricks of the theatre.
her misfortune, but not mine, because a person who's born unfortunate can hardly suffer from any further misfortune. isn't that true?
are you an actor too?
what have you done with my wife?
what have you done with my wife?
good evening.
yes, yes, look at the smith. he moans like a rabbit.
are you married?
i can assure you that one wife is worse than a hundred, or else i've had worse luck than any poor wretch in this miserable world, which isn't impossible.
women's nagging, the shrieking of children and wet diapers, sharp nails and sharp words, blows and pokes, and the devil's aunt for a mother-in-law. and then, when one wants to sleep after a long day, there's a new song -- tears, whining and moans loud enough to wake the dead.
why don't you sing a song for me?
why don't you look at my new slip?
oh hell!
i'll snip their noses with pliers, i'll bash in their chests with a small hammer, i'll tap their heads ever so lightly with a sledge.
maybe i love her.
yes, but it hurts anyway.
no, no, not me.
you're happy, you with your oily words, and, besides, you believe your own drivel.
listen, jns. may i go with you through the forest? i'm so lonely and don't want to go home because everyone will laugh at me.
i'm really sorry if i hurt you. but i have such a hell of a temper, you know. shake hands.
come in my arms, little brother.
now the moon has come out of the clouds.
i guess he means that they stand very still.
oh, now it came over me again!
my wife, damn it. she is so beautiful. she is so beautiful that she can't be described without the accompaniment of a lyre.
her smile is like brandy. her eyes like blackberries .
yes, of course, of course. her nose is like a little pink potato; her behind is like a juicy pear -- yes, the whole woman is like a strawberry patch. i can see her in front of me, with arms like wonderful cucumbers.
look there.
there, over there!
hang on to something, my friends. the hour is near! who is that at the edge of the forest if not my own dearly beloved, with actor attached?
watch out, you perfumed slob, that i don't fart on you and immediately blow you down to the actor's own red-hot hell, where you can sit and recite monologues to each other until the dust comes out of the devil's ears.
i'll kill him anyway.
he has to fight me, otherwise i can't kill him.
you'll have to irritate me a little more to get me as angry as before.
oh dear, dear, i didn't mean it that way! look, there's no life left in him. i was beginning to like him, and in my opinion lisa was much too spiteful.
and i have to be married to her.
we feel that something is going to happen to us, but we don't know what.
the day of judgment .
i am a smith by profession and rather good at my trade, if i say so myself. my wife lisa -- curtsy for the great lord, lisa. she's a little difficult to handle once in a while and we had a little spat, so to speak, but no worse than most people.