To me the last of lonesome ones,
Oh, come you back!
All my hot tears in streamlets trickle
Their course to you!
And all my final hearty fervor-
Up-glow'th to you!
Oh, come you back,
Mine unfamiliar God! my pain!
My final bliss!
2.
-Here, however, Zarathustra could no longer restrain himself; he took his staff and struck the wailer with all his might. "Stop this," cried he to him with wrathful laughter, "stop this, you stage-player! you false coiner! you liar from the very heart! I know you well!
I will soon make warm legs to you, you evil magician: I know well how- to make it hot for such as you!"
-"Leave off," said the old man, and sprang up from the ground, "strike me no more, O Zarathustra! I did it only for amusement!
That kind of thing belongs to my art. You yourself, I wanted to put to the proof when I gave this performance. And verily, you have well detected me!
But you yourself- have given me no small proof of yourself: you are hard, you wise Zarathustra! Hard strike you with your 'truths,' your cudgel forces from me- this truth!"
-"Flatter not," answered Zarathustra, still excited and frowning, "you stage-player from the heart! you are false: why speak you- of truth!
