_ What squeezing and pushing, what rustling and
hustling!
Faust, a Tragedy by Goethe
_Voice_ [_below_]. Take me too! take me too!
Three hundred years I've climbed to you,
Seeking in vain my mates to come at,
For I can never reach the summit.
_Both chorusses_. Can ride the besom, the stick can ride,
Can stride the pitchfork, the goat can stride;
Who neither will ride to-night, nor can,
Must be forever a ruined man.
_Half-witch_ [_below_]. I hobble on--I'm out of wind--
And still they leave me far behind!
To find peace here in vain I come,
I get no more than I left at home.
_Chorus of witches_. The witch's salve can never fail,
A rag will answer for a sail,
Any trough will do for a ship, that's tight;
He'll never fly who flies not to-night.
_Both chorusses_. And when the highest peak we round,
Then lightly graze along the ground,
And cover the heath, where eye can see,
With the flower of witch-errantry.
[_They alight_. ]
_Mephistopheles.
_ What squeezing and pushing, what rustling and hustling!
What hissing and twirling, what chattering and bustling!
How it shines and sparkles and burns and stinks!
A true witch-element, methinks!
Keep close! or we are parted in two winks.
Where art thou?
_Faust_ [_in the distance_]. Here!
_Mephistopheles_. What! carried off already?
Then I must use my house-right. --Steady!
Room! Squire Voland[36] comes.
