Wotan: The hoard and your bright-shining gold.
Alberich: (#19) You greedy gang of swindlers! (aside) (#19:) But if I can keep the ring for myself (:#19), (#19 harmony?:) I can easily manage without the hoard: for it’s soon replenished and splendidly fattened by means of the ring’s command (:#19 harmony?). (#36 vari:) It would serve as a warning that makes me wise. I don’t count the lesson too dearly bought (:#36 vari) if all I give up is the golden dross.
Wotan: You’ll hand the hoard over?
Alberich: Untie my hand and I’ll call it here. (Loge unties the rope from his right hand. Alberich raises the ring to his lips and secretly murmurs a command: #19; #45; #41) (#46:) Well then, I’ve called the Nibelungs here: obeying their lord, I hear them bringing the hoard from the depths to daylight (:#46). Untie me now from my irksome bonds!
Wotan: Not until everything’s paid!
(the Nibelungs emerge from the crevice, laden with trinkets from the hoard. Throughout the following, the Nibelungs pile up the hoard.)
Alberich: (#5:; #46:) O shameful disgrace! That my faint-hearted slaves should see me shackled myself (:#5; :#46)! (to the Nibelungs: #46:) Put it down there, just as I tell you! All in a heap pile up the hoard! (…) Back to your work (:#46)! (…) (#45?:) Woe betide if I find you idle (:#45?)! (#41) I’ll be following hard on your heels. (He kisses his ring and stretches it out commandingly: #45. All at once, the timid, fearful Nibelungs crowd into the crevice through which they swiftly slip away.) I’ve paid: now let me go! (#42) And the metal helm that Loge’s holding, kindly give it me back!
Loge: (tossing the tarnhelm on to the hoard) the booty is part of the ransom.
