The distant
prospect
shakes my reason.
Faust, a Tragedy by Goethe
]
_Margaret_. Don't take that trouble, sir! How could you bear to kiss it?
A hand so ugly, coarse, and rough!
How much I've had to do! must I confess it--
Mother is more than close enough.
[_They pass on_. ]
_Martha_. And you, sir, are you always travelling so?
_Mephistopheles_. Alas, that business forces us to do it!
With what regret from many a place we go,
Though tenderest bonds may bind us to it!
_Martha_. 'Twill do in youth's tumultuous maze
To wander round the world, a careless rover;
But soon will come the evil days,
And then, a lone dry stick, on the grave's brink to hover,
For that nobody ever prays.
_Mephistopheles_.
The distant prospect shakes my reason.
_Martha_. Then, worthy sir, bethink yourself in season.
[_They pass on_. ]
_Margaret_. Yes, out of sight and out of mind!
Politeness you find no hard matter;
But you have friends in plenty, better
Than I, more sensible, more refined.
_Faust_. Dear girl, what one calls sensible on earth,
Is often vanity and nonsense.
_Margaret_. How?
_Faust_. Ah, that the pure and simple never know
Aught of themselves and all their holy worth!
That meekness, lowliness, the highest measure
Of gifts by nature lavished, full and free--
_Margaret_. One little moment, only, think of me,
I shall to think of you have ample time and leisure.
_Faust_.
_Margaret_. Don't take that trouble, sir! How could you bear to kiss it?
A hand so ugly, coarse, and rough!
How much I've had to do! must I confess it--
Mother is more than close enough.
[_They pass on_. ]
_Martha_. And you, sir, are you always travelling so?
_Mephistopheles_. Alas, that business forces us to do it!
With what regret from many a place we go,
Though tenderest bonds may bind us to it!
_Martha_. 'Twill do in youth's tumultuous maze
To wander round the world, a careless rover;
But soon will come the evil days,
And then, a lone dry stick, on the grave's brink to hover,
For that nobody ever prays.
_Mephistopheles_.
The distant prospect shakes my reason.
_Martha_. Then, worthy sir, bethink yourself in season.
[_They pass on_. ]
_Margaret_. Yes, out of sight and out of mind!
Politeness you find no hard matter;
But you have friends in plenty, better
Than I, more sensible, more refined.
_Faust_. Dear girl, what one calls sensible on earth,
Is often vanity and nonsense.
_Margaret_. How?
_Faust_. Ah, that the pure and simple never know
Aught of themselves and all their holy worth!
That meekness, lowliness, the highest measure
Of gifts by nature lavished, full and free--
_Margaret_. One little moment, only, think of me,
I shall to think of you have ample time and leisure.
_Faust_.
