But the poor women suffer, you must own:
A bachelor is hard of reformation.
A bachelor is hard of reformation.
Faust, a Tragedy by Goethe
An angel, if like thee!
_Margaret_. I reared her and she heartily loved me.
She and my father never saw each other,
He died before her birth, and mother
Was given up, so low she lay,
But me, by slow degrees, recovered, day by day.
Of course she now, long time so feeble,
To nurse the poor little worm was unable,
And so I reared it all alone,
With milk and water; 'twas my own.
Upon my bosom all day long
It smiled and sprawled and so grew strong.
_Faust_. Ah! thou hast truly known joy's fairest flower.
_Margaret_. But no less truly many a heavy hour.
The wee thing's cradle stood at night
Close to my bed; did the least thing awake her,
My sleep took flight;
'Twas now to nurse her, now in bed to take her,
Then, if she was not still, to rise,
Walk up and down the room, and dance away her cries,
And at the wash-tub stand, when morning streaked the skies;
Then came the marketing and kitchen-tending,
Day in, day out, work never-ending.
One cannot always, sir, good temper keep;
But then it sweetens food and sweetens sleep.
[_They pass on_. ]
_Martha_.
But the poor women suffer, you must own:
A bachelor is hard of reformation.
_Mephistopheles_. Madam, it rests with such as you, alone,
To help me mend my situation.
_Martha_. Speak plainly, sir, has none your fancy taken?
Has none made out a tender flame to waken?
_Mephistopheles_. The proverb says: A man's own hearth,
And a brave wife, all gold and pearls are worth.
_Martha_. I mean, has ne'er your heart been smitten slightly?
_Mephistopheles_. I have, on every hand, been entertained politely.
_Martha_. Have you not felt, I mean, a serious intention?
_Mephistopheles_.
Jesting with women, that's a thing one ne'er should mention.
_Margaret_. I reared her and she heartily loved me.
She and my father never saw each other,
He died before her birth, and mother
Was given up, so low she lay,
But me, by slow degrees, recovered, day by day.
Of course she now, long time so feeble,
To nurse the poor little worm was unable,
And so I reared it all alone,
With milk and water; 'twas my own.
Upon my bosom all day long
It smiled and sprawled and so grew strong.
_Faust_. Ah! thou hast truly known joy's fairest flower.
_Margaret_. But no less truly many a heavy hour.
The wee thing's cradle stood at night
Close to my bed; did the least thing awake her,
My sleep took flight;
'Twas now to nurse her, now in bed to take her,
Then, if she was not still, to rise,
Walk up and down the room, and dance away her cries,
And at the wash-tub stand, when morning streaked the skies;
Then came the marketing and kitchen-tending,
Day in, day out, work never-ending.
One cannot always, sir, good temper keep;
But then it sweetens food and sweetens sleep.
[_They pass on_. ]
_Martha_.
But the poor women suffer, you must own:
A bachelor is hard of reformation.
_Mephistopheles_. Madam, it rests with such as you, alone,
To help me mend my situation.
_Martha_. Speak plainly, sir, has none your fancy taken?
Has none made out a tender flame to waken?
_Mephistopheles_. The proverb says: A man's own hearth,
And a brave wife, all gold and pearls are worth.
_Martha_. I mean, has ne'er your heart been smitten slightly?
_Mephistopheles_. I have, on every hand, been entertained politely.
_Martha_. Have you not felt, I mean, a serious intention?
_Mephistopheles_.
Jesting with women, that's a thing one ne'er should mention.
