In his chagrin at having made himself ridiculous, and in
anger because his colleagues declare the words of his song
have no sense, he suddenly turns upon Hans Sachs, and, hoping
to humiliate him publicly, accuses him of having written the
song. Hans Sachs, of course, disowns the authorship, but stoutly
declares the song is a masterpiece, and that he is sure every
one present will agree with him if they hear it properly rendered
to its appropriate tune. As he is a general favourite among his
townsmen, he soon prevails upon them to listen to the author
and composer and decide whether he or Beckmesser is at fault.

Walther then springs lightly up the turfy throne, and,
inspired by love, he sings with all his heart. The beautiful
words, married to an equally beautiful strain, win for him the
unanimous plaudits of the crowd, who hail him as victor, while
the blushing Eva places the laurel crown upon his head. Pogner,
openly delighted with the favourable turn of affairs, gives him
the badge of the guild, and heartily promises him the hand of
his only daughter. As for Hans Sachs, having publicly proved
that his judgment was not at fault, and that he had been keen
enough to detect genius even when it revealed itself in a new
form, he is heartily cheered by all the Nurembergers, who are
prouder than ever of the cobbler poet who has brought about a
happy marriage:--

'Hail Sachs! Hans Sachs!
Hail Nuremberg's darling Sachs!'