And the
braggarts
all in silence were bound.
Faust, a Tragedy by Goethe
Go where I will, I never
Find peace or hope--forever
Woe, woe and misery!
Alone, when all are sleeping,
I'm weeping, weeping, weeping,
My heart is crushed in me.
The pots before my window,
In the early morning-hours,
Alas, my tears bedewed them,
As I plucked for thee these flowers,
When the bright sun good morrow
In at my window said,
Already, in my anguish,
I sate there in my bed.
From shame and death redeem me, oh!
Draw near me,
And, pitying, hear me,
Mother of sorrows, heal my woe!
NIGHT.
_Street before_ MARGERY'S _Door. _
VALENTINE [_soldier,_ MARGERY'S _brother_].
When at the mess I used to sit,
Where many a one will show his wit,
And heard my comrades one and all
The flower of the sex extol,
Drowning their praise with bumpers high,
Leaning upon my elbows, I
Would hear the braggadocios through,
And then, when it came my turn, too,
Would stroke my beard and, smiling, say,
A brimming bumper in my hand:
All very decent in their way!
But is there one, in all the land,
With my sweet Margy to compare,
A candle to hold to my sister fair?
Bravo! Kling! Klang! it echoed round!
One party cried: 'tis truth he speaks,
She is the jewel of the sex!
And the braggarts all in silence were bound.
And now! --one could pull out his hair with vexation,
And run up the walls for mortification! --
Every two-legged creature that goes in breeches
Can mock me with sneers and stinging speeches!
And I like a guilty debtor sitting,
For fear of each casual word am sweating!
And though I could smash them in my ire,
I dare not call a soul of them liar.
What's that comes yonder, sneaking along?
There are two of them there, if I see not wrong.
Is't he, I'll give him a dose that'll cure him,
He'll not leave the spot alive, I assure him!
FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES.
_Faust_. How from yon window of the sacristy
The ever-burning lamp sends up its glimmer,
And round the edge grows ever dimmer,
Till in the gloom its flickerings die!
So in my bosom all is nightlike.
_Mephistopheles_. A starving tom-cat I feel quite like,
That o'er the fire ladders crawls
Then softly creeps, ground the walls.
