But then she's over
fourteen
years old.
Faust, a Tragedy by Goethe
So modest is she and so pure,
And somewhat saucy, too, to be sure.
The light of the cheek, the lip's red bloom,
I shall never forget to the day of doom!
How me cast down her lovely eyes,
Deep in my soul imprinted lies;
How she spoke up, so curt and tart,
Ah, that went right to my ravished heart!
[_Enter_ MEPHISTOPHELES. ]
_Faust_. Hark, thou shalt find me a way to address her!
_Mephistopheles_. Which one?
_Faust_. She just went by.
_Mephistopheles_. What! She?
She came just now from her father confessor,
Who from all sins pronounced her free;
I stole behind her noiselessly,
'Tis an innocent thing, who, for nothing at all,
Must go to the confessional;
O'er such as she no power I hold!
_Faust_.
But then she's over fourteen years old.
_Mephistopheles_. Thou speak'st exactly like Jack Rake,
Who every fair flower his own would make.
And thinks there can be no favor nor fame,
But one may straightway pluck the same.
But 'twill not always do, we see.
_Faust_. My worthy Master Gravity,
Let not a word of the Law be spoken!
One thing be clearly understood,--
Unless I clasp the sweet, young blood
This night in my arms--then, well and good:
When midnight strikes, our bond is broken.
_Mephistopheles_. Reflect on all that lies in the way!
I need a fortnight, at least, to a day,
For finding so much as a way to reach her.
_Faust_. Had I seven hours, to call my own,
Without the devil's aid, alone
I'd snare with ease so young a creature.
_Mephistopheles_. You talk quite Frenchman-like to-day;
But don't be vexed beyond all measure.
What boots it thus to snatch at pleasure?
