]
MEPHISTOPHELES
_to him_.
Faust, a Tragedy by Goethe
only see!
I never saw the like in my born days!
On some chief festival such finery
Might on some noble lady blaze.
How would this chain become my neck!
Whose may this splendor be, so lonely?
[_She arrays herself in it, and steps before the glass_. ]
Could I but claim the ear-rings only!
A different figure one would make.
What's beauty worth to thee, young blood!
May all be very well and good;
What then? 'Tis half for pity's sake
They praise your pretty features.
Each burns for gold,
All turns on gold,--
Alas for us! poor creatures!
PROMENADE.
FAUST [_going up and down in thought_.
] MEPHISTOPHELES _to him_.
_Mephistopheles_. By all that ever was jilted! By all the infernal fires!
I wish I knew something worse, to curse as my heart desires!
_Faust_. What griping pain has hold of thee?
Such grins ne'er saw I in the worst stage-ranter!
_Mephistopheles_. Oh, to the devil I'd give myself instanter,
If I were not already he!
_Faust_. Some pin's loose in your head, old fellow!
That fits you, like a madman thus to bellow!
_Mephistopheles_. Just think, the pretty toy we got for Peg,
A priest has hooked, the cursed plague I--
The thing came under the eye of the mother,
And caused her a dreadful internal pother:
The woman's scent is fine and strong;
Snuffles over her prayer-book all day long,
And knows, by the smell of an article, plain,
Whether the thing is holy or profane;
And as to the box she was soon aware
There could not be much blessing there.
"My child," she cried, "unrighteous gains
Ensnare the soul, dry up the veins.
I never saw the like in my born days!
On some chief festival such finery
Might on some noble lady blaze.
How would this chain become my neck!
Whose may this splendor be, so lonely?
[_She arrays herself in it, and steps before the glass_. ]
Could I but claim the ear-rings only!
A different figure one would make.
What's beauty worth to thee, young blood!
May all be very well and good;
What then? 'Tis half for pity's sake
They praise your pretty features.
Each burns for gold,
All turns on gold,--
Alas for us! poor creatures!
PROMENADE.
FAUST [_going up and down in thought_.
] MEPHISTOPHELES _to him_.
_Mephistopheles_. By all that ever was jilted! By all the infernal fires!
I wish I knew something worse, to curse as my heart desires!
_Faust_. What griping pain has hold of thee?
Such grins ne'er saw I in the worst stage-ranter!
_Mephistopheles_. Oh, to the devil I'd give myself instanter,
If I were not already he!
_Faust_. Some pin's loose in your head, old fellow!
That fits you, like a madman thus to bellow!
_Mephistopheles_. Just think, the pretty toy we got for Peg,
A priest has hooked, the cursed plague I--
The thing came under the eye of the mother,
And caused her a dreadful internal pother:
The woman's scent is fine and strong;
Snuffles over her prayer-book all day long,
And knows, by the smell of an article, plain,
Whether the thing is holy or profane;
And as to the box she was soon aware
There could not be much blessing there.
"My child," she cried, "unrighteous gains
Ensnare the soul, dry up the veins.
