Paris in small it is, and
cultivates
its people.
Faust, a Tragedy by Goethe
You take their case so much to heart?
_Altmayer_. The bald pate and the butter-belly!
The sad tale makes him mild and tame;
He sees in the swollen rat, poor fellow!
His own true likeness set in a frame.
FAUST _and_ MEPHISTOPHELES.
_Mephistopheles_. Now, first of all, 'tis necessary
To show you people making merry,
That you may see how lightly life can run.
Each day to this small folk's a feast of fun;
Not over-witty, self-contented,
Still round and round in circle-dance they whirl,
As with their tails young kittens twirl.
If with no headache they're tormented,
Nor dunned by landlord for his pay,
They're careless, unconcerned, and gay.
_Brander_. They're fresh from travel, one might know it,
Their air and manner plainly show it;
They came here not an hour ago.
_Frosch_. Thou verily art right! My Leipsic well I know!
Paris in small it is, and cultivates its people.
_Siebel_. What do the strangers seem to thee?
_Frosch_. Just let me go! When wine our friendship mellows,
Easy as drawing a child's tooth 'twill be
To worm their secrets out of these two fellows.
They're of a noble house, I dare to swear,
They have a proud and discontented air.
_Brander_. They're mountebanks, I'll bet a dollar!
_Altmayer_. Perhaps.
_Frosch_. I'll smoke them, mark you that!
_Mephistopheles_ [_to Faust_]. These people never smell the old rat,
E'en when he has them by the collar.
_Faust_.
_Altmayer_. The bald pate and the butter-belly!
The sad tale makes him mild and tame;
He sees in the swollen rat, poor fellow!
His own true likeness set in a frame.
FAUST _and_ MEPHISTOPHELES.
_Mephistopheles_. Now, first of all, 'tis necessary
To show you people making merry,
That you may see how lightly life can run.
Each day to this small folk's a feast of fun;
Not over-witty, self-contented,
Still round and round in circle-dance they whirl,
As with their tails young kittens twirl.
If with no headache they're tormented,
Nor dunned by landlord for his pay,
They're careless, unconcerned, and gay.
_Brander_. They're fresh from travel, one might know it,
Their air and manner plainly show it;
They came here not an hour ago.
_Frosch_. Thou verily art right! My Leipsic well I know!
Paris in small it is, and cultivates its people.
_Siebel_. What do the strangers seem to thee?
_Frosch_. Just let me go! When wine our friendship mellows,
Easy as drawing a child's tooth 'twill be
To worm their secrets out of these two fellows.
They're of a noble house, I dare to swear,
They have a proud and discontented air.
_Brander_. They're mountebanks, I'll bet a dollar!
_Altmayer_. Perhaps.
_Frosch_. I'll smoke them, mark you that!
_Mephistopheles_ [_to Faust_]. These people never smell the old rat,
E'en when he has them by the collar.
_Faust_.
