Rat-catching[81]
offspring
of perdition!
Faust, a Tragedy by Goethe
I always like to bear
Some present when I visit my fair.
_Mephistopheles_. You should not murmur if your fate is,
To have a bit of pleasure gratis.
Now, as the stars fill heaven with their bright throng,
List a fine piece, artistic purely:
I sing her here a moral song,
To make a fool of her more surely.
[_Sings to the guitar_. ][30]
What dost thou here,
Katrina dear,
At daybreak drear,
Before thy lover's chamber?
Give o'er, give o'er!
The maid his door
Lets in, no more
Goes out a maid--remember!
Take heed! take heed!
Once done, the deed
Ye'll rue with speed--
And then--good night--poor thing--a!
Though ne'er so fair
His speech, beware,
Until you bear
His ring upon your finger.
_Valentine_ [_comes forward_].
Whom lur'ft thou here? what prey dost scent?
Rat-catching[81] offspring of perdition!
To hell goes first the instrument!
To hell then follows the musician!
_Mephistopheles_. He 's broken the guitar! to music, then, good-bye, now.
_Valentine_. A game of cracking skulls we'll try now!
_Mephistopbeles_ [_to Faust_]. Never you flinch, Sir Doctor! Brisk!
Mind every word I say---be wary!
Stand close by me, out with your whisk!
Thrust home upon the churl! I'll parry.
_Valentine_.
Some present when I visit my fair.
_Mephistopheles_. You should not murmur if your fate is,
To have a bit of pleasure gratis.
Now, as the stars fill heaven with their bright throng,
List a fine piece, artistic purely:
I sing her here a moral song,
To make a fool of her more surely.
[_Sings to the guitar_. ][30]
What dost thou here,
Katrina dear,
At daybreak drear,
Before thy lover's chamber?
Give o'er, give o'er!
The maid his door
Lets in, no more
Goes out a maid--remember!
Take heed! take heed!
Once done, the deed
Ye'll rue with speed--
And then--good night--poor thing--a!
Though ne'er so fair
His speech, beware,
Until you bear
His ring upon your finger.
_Valentine_ [_comes forward_].
Whom lur'ft thou here? what prey dost scent?
Rat-catching[81] offspring of perdition!
To hell goes first the instrument!
To hell then follows the musician!
_Mephistopheles_. He 's broken the guitar! to music, then, good-bye, now.
_Valentine_. A game of cracking skulls we'll try now!
_Mephistopbeles_ [_to Faust_]. Never you flinch, Sir Doctor! Brisk!
Mind every word I say---be wary!
Stand close by me, out with your whisk!
Thrust home upon the churl! I'll parry.
_Valentine_.
