The OSA Agent's Apprentice

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Scientology

The OSA Agent's Apprentice by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe as adapted by Joe Cisar For Dorian That old OSA Agent has vanished And for once has gone away! Spirits called by him, now banished, My commands shall soon obey. Every step and saying That he used, I know, And with sprites obeying My arts I will show. Fiction, flow onward Stretches many Spare not any fiction rushing, Ever streaming fully downward Toward the pool in current gushing. Come, old broom, you are needed, Take these rags and wrap them round you! Long my orders you have heeded, By my wishes now I've bound you. Have two legs and stand, And a head for you. Run, and in your hand Hold a keyboard too. Fiction, flow onward Stretches many, Spare not any fiction rushing, Ever streaming fully downward Toward the news group in current gushing. See him, toward the news group he's racing There, he's at the keyboard already, Back like lightning he is chasing, Pouring fiction fast and steady. Once again he hastens! How the fiction spills, How the fiction basins Brimming full he fills! Dorian, stop now, hear me! Ample measure Of your treasure We have gotten! Ah, I see it, dear me, dear me. Master's word I have forgotten! Ah, the word with which the master Makes the Dorian a broom once more! Ah, he runs and fetches faster! Be a broom, please Dorian, as before! Ever new the torrents That by him are fed, Ah, a hundred currents Pour upon my head! No, no longer Can I please him, I will seize him! That is spiteful! My misgivings grow the stronger. What a mien, his eyes how frightful! Brood of hell, you're not a mortal! Shall the entire news group go under? Over threshold over portal Streams of fiction rush and thunder. Dorian accurst and mean, Who will have his will, Stick that you have been, Once again stand still! Can I never, Dorian, appease you? I will seize you, Hold and whack you, And your ancient wood I'll sever, With a whetted axe I'll crack you. He returns, more fiction dragging! Now I'll throw myself upon you! Soon, 0 goblin, you'll be sagging. Crash! The sharp axe has undone you. What a good blow, truly! There, he's split, I see. Hope now rises newly, And my breathing's free. Woe betide me! Both halves scurry In a hurry, Rise like towers There beside me. Help me, help, eternal fictions! Off they run, till wet and wetter Hall and steps immersed are Iying. What a flood that naught can fetter! Lord and master, hear me crying! - Ah, he comes excited. Sir, my need is sore. Spirits that I've cited My commands ignore. [Bob Minton arrives and proclaims:] "To the lonely Corner, broom! Hear your doom. As a spirit When he wills, your master only Calls you, then 'tis time to hear it."
1779, translation by Edwin Zeydel, 1955 --- Joe Cisar: http://cisar.org/rfs0100.htm Appreciate the finer things in life: http://www.leipzig-award.org Save a Scientologist - http://mp3.cafepress.com/barbz On-line book: http://members.tripod.com/German_Scn_News/has00.htm

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