Part 32

MEPHISTOPHELES

The six days' labour of a god, my friend, Who doth himself cry bravo, at the end, By something clever doubtless should be crown'd. For this time gaze your fill, and when you please Just such a prize for you I can provide; How blest is he to whom kind fate decrees, To take her to his home, a lovely bride!

(FAUST continues to gaze into the mirror. MEPHISTOPHELES stretching himself on the settle and playing with the whisk, continues to speak.)

Here sit I, like a king upon his throne; My sceptre this;--the crown I want alone.

THE MONKEYS

(who have hitherto been making all sorts of strange gestures, bring MEPHISTOPHELES a crown, with loud cries)

Oh, be so good, With Sweat and with blood The crown to lime!

(They handle the crown awkwardly and break it in two pieces, with which they skip about.)

'Twas fate's decree! We speak and see! We hear and rhyme.

FAUST (before the mirror)

Woe's me! well-nigh distraught I feel!

MEPHISTOPHELES (pointing to the beasts)

And even my own head almost begins to reel.

THE MONKEYS

If good luck attend, If fitly things blend, Our jargon with thought And with reason is fraught!

FAUST (as above)

A flame is kindled in my breast! Let us begone! nor linger here!

MEPHISTOPT'IELES (in the same position)

It now at least must be confessed, That poets sometimes are sincere.

(The caldron begins to boil over; a great flame arises, which streams up the chimney. The WITCH comes down the chimney with horrible cries.)

THE WITCH

Ough! ough! ough! ough! Accursed brute! accursed SOW! The caldron dost neglect, for shame! Accursed brute to scorch the dame!

(Perceiving FAUST and MEPHISTOPHELES)

Whom have we here? Who's sneaking here? Whence are ye come? With what desire? The plague of fire Your bones consume!

(She dips the skimming-ladle into the caldron and throws flames at FAUST, MEPHISTOPHELES, and the MONKEYS. The MONKEYS whimper.)

MEPHISTOPHELES (twirling the whisk which he holds in his hand, and striking among the glasses and pots)

Dash! Smash! There lies the glass! There lies the slime! 'Tis but a jest; I but keep time, Thou hellish pest, To thine own chime!

(While the WITCH steps back in rage aind astonishment.)