Men who have
travelled
wide are used
To bear with much from dread of rudeness;
I know too well, a man of so much mind
In my poor talk can little pleasure find.
To bear with much from dread of rudeness;
I know too well, a man of so much mind
In my poor talk can little pleasure find.
Faust, a Tragedy by Goethe
Enough!
It will!
--If, for the passion
That fills and thrills my being's frame,
I find no name, no fit expression,
Then, through the world, with all my senses, ranging,
Seek what most strongly speaks the unchanging.
And call this glow, within me burning,
Infinite--endless--endless yearning,
Is that a devilish lying game?
_Mephistopheles_. I'm right, nathless!
_Faust_. Now, hark to me--
This once, I pray, and spare my lungs, old fellow--
Whoever _will_ be right, and has a tongue to bellow,
Is sure to be.
But come, enough of swaggering, let's be quit,
For thou art right, because I must submit.
GARDEN.
MARGARET _on_ FAUST'S _arm_. MARTHA _with_ MEPHISTOPHELES.
[_Promenading up and down_. ]
_Margaret_. The gentleman but makes me more confused
With all his condescending goodness.
Men who have travelled wide are used
To bear with much from dread of rudeness;
I know too well, a man of so much mind
In my poor talk can little pleasure find.
_Faust_. One look from thee, one word, delights me more
Than this world's wisdom o'er and o'er.
[_Kisses her hand_. ]
_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!
That fills and thrills my being's frame,
I find no name, no fit expression,
Then, through the world, with all my senses, ranging,
Seek what most strongly speaks the unchanging.
And call this glow, within me burning,
Infinite--endless--endless yearning,
Is that a devilish lying game?
_Mephistopheles_. I'm right, nathless!
_Faust_. Now, hark to me--
This once, I pray, and spare my lungs, old fellow--
Whoever _will_ be right, and has a tongue to bellow,
Is sure to be.
But come, enough of swaggering, let's be quit,
For thou art right, because I must submit.
GARDEN.
MARGARET _on_ FAUST'S _arm_. MARTHA _with_ MEPHISTOPHELES.
[_Promenading up and down_. ]
_Margaret_. The gentleman but makes me more confused
With all his condescending goodness.
Men who have travelled wide are used
To bear with much from dread of rudeness;
I know too well, a man of so much mind
In my poor talk can little pleasure find.
_Faust_. One look from thee, one word, delights me more
Than this world's wisdom o'er and o'er.
[_Kisses her hand_. ]
_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!
