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The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/The Critic


THE CRITIC.

I had a fellow as my guest,
Not knowing he was such a pest,
And gave him just my usual fare;
He ate his fill of what was there,
And for a dessert my best things swallowed,
Soon as his meal was o'er, what followed?
Led by the Deuce, to a neighbour he went,
And talked of my food to his heart's content:
"The soup might surely have had more spice,
The meat was ill-browned, and the wine wasn't nice."
A thousand curses alight on his head!
'Tis a critic, I vow! Let the dog be struck dead!