No More Learning

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Say, cursed dolls, that sweat, there, toiling!
What are you twirling with the spoon?

_Animals_. A common beggar-soup we're boiling.

_Mephistopheles_. You'll have a run of custom soon.

THE HE-MONKEY
[_Comes along and fawns on_ MEPHISTOPHELES].
O fling up the dice,
Make me rich in a trice,
Turn fortune's wheel over!
My lot is right bad,
If money I had,
My wits would recover.

_Mephistopheles_. The monkey'd be as merry as a cricket,
Would somebody give him a lottery-ticket!

[_Meanwhile the young monkeys have been playing with a great
ball, which they roll backward and forward_. ]

_The monkey_. 'The world's the ball;
See't rise and fall,
Its roll you follow;
Like glass it rings:
Both, brittle things!
Within 'tis hollow.
There it shines clear,
And brighter here,--
I live--by 'Pollo! --
Dear son, I pray,
Keep hands away!
_Thou_ shalt fall so!
'Tis made of clay,
Pots are, also.

_Mephistopheles_. What means the sieve?

_The monkey [takes it down_]. Wert thou a thief,
'Twould show the thief and shame him.
[_Runs to his mate and makes her look through_. ]
Look through the sieve!
Discern'st thou the thief,
And darest not name him?

_Mephistopheles [approaching the fire_]. And what's this pot?

_The monkeys_. The dunce! I'll be shot!