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.
List a fine piece, artistic purely:
I sing her here a moral song,
To make a fool of her more surely.
Faust, a Tragedy by Goethe
Meanwhile can that the casket be, I wonder,
I see behind rise glittering yonder. [28]
_Mephistopheles_. Yes, and thou soon shalt have the pleasure
Of lifting out the precious treasure.
I lately 'neath the lid did squint,
Has piles of lion-dollars[29] in't.
_Faust_. But not a jewel? Not a ring?
To deck my mistress not a trinket?
_Mephistopheles_. I caught a glimpse of some such thing,
Sort of pearl bracelet I should think it.
_Faust_. That's well! 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_.
I see behind rise glittering yonder. [28]
_Mephistopheles_. Yes, and thou soon shalt have the pleasure
Of lifting out the precious treasure.
I lately 'neath the lid did squint,
Has piles of lion-dollars[29] in't.
_Faust_. But not a jewel? Not a ring?
To deck my mistress not a trinket?
_Mephistopheles_. I caught a glimpse of some such thing,
Sort of pearl bracelet I should think it.
_Faust_. That's well! 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_.
