PEDLAR-WITCH.

Look here,

Gentlemen; do not hurry on so fast,
And lose the chance of a good pennyworth.
I have a pack full of the choicest wares
Of every sort, and yet in all my bundle

Is nothing like what may be found on earth;
Nothing that in a moment will make rich

Men and the world with fine malicious mischief.-
There is no dagger drunk with blood; no bowl
From which consuming poison may be drained
By innocent and healthy lips; no jewel,
The price of an abandoned maiden's shame;
No sword which cuts the bond it cannot loose,
Or stabs the wearer's enemy in the back;
No-

MEPHISTOPHELES.

Gossip, you know little of these times.

What has been, has been; what is done, is past.
They shape themselves into the innovations
They breed, and innovation drags us with it.
The torrent of the crowd sweeps over us;
You think to impel, and are yourself impelled.

Lilith, the first wife of Adam.

Beware of her fair hair, for she excels
All women in the magic of her locks;

And when she winds them round a young man's neck, She will not ever set him free again.

FAUST.

There sit a girl and an old woman—they
Seem to be tired with pleasure and with play.

MEPHISTOPHELES.

There is no rest to-night for any one:

When one dance ends another is begun ;

Come, let us to it. We shall have rare fun.

[FAUST dances and sings with a Girl, and MEPHISTOPHELES with an old Woman.

PROCTO-PHANTASMIST.

What is this cursed multitude about?

Have we not long since proved to demonstration
That ghosts move not on ordinary feet!

But these are dancing just like men and women.

THE GIRL.

What does he want then at our ball?

FAUST.

Oh! he

Is far above us all in his conceit :

Whilst we enjoy, he reasons of enjoyment;
And any step which in our dance we tread,
If it be left out of his reckoning,

Is not to be considered as a step.

There are few things that scandalise him not;
And, when you whirl round in the circle now,
As he went round the wheel in his old mill,
He says that you go wrong in all respects,
Especially if you congratulate him
Upon the strength of the resemblance.

PROCTO-PHANTASMIST.

Fly!

Vanish! Unheard-of impudence! What, still there!
In this enlightened age too, since you have been
Proved not to exist!-But this infernal brood
Will hear no reason and endure no rule.
Are we so wise, and is the pond still haunted?
How long have I been sweeping out this rubbish
Of superstition, and the world will not

Come clean with all my pains!—it is a case
Unheard of!

THE GIRL.

Then leave off teasing us so.

PROCTO-PHANTASMIST.

I tell you, spirits, to your faces now,
That I should not regret this despotism
Of spirits, but that mine can wield it not.
To-night I shall make poor work of it,
Yet I will take a round with you, and hope
Before my last step in the living dance
To beat the poet and the devil together.

MEPHISTOPHELES.

At last he will sit down in some foul puddle;
That is his way of solacing himself;

Until some leech, diverted with his gravity,
Cures him of spirits and the spirit together.

[TO FAUST, who has seceded from the dance. Why do you let that fair girl pass from you, Who sang so sweetly to you in the dance?

FAUST.

A red mouse in the middle of her singing
Sprang from her mouth.

MEPHISTOPHELES.

That was all right, my friend :

Be it enough that the mouse was not grey.
Do not disturb your hour of happiness
With close consideration of such trifles.

FAUST.

Then saw I—

MEPHISTOPHELES.

What?

FAUST.

Seest thou not a pale

Fair girl, standing alone, far, far away?

She drags herself now forward with slow steps,
And seems as if she moved with shackled feet:
I cannot overcome the thought that she
Is like poor Margaret.

MEPHISTOPHELES.

Let it be-pass on

No good can come of it-it is not well
To meet it-it is an enchanted phantom,
A lifeless idol; with its numbing look,
It freezes up the blood of man; and they
Who meet its ghastly stare are turned to stone,
Like those who saw Medusa.

FAUST.

O, too true!

Her eyes are like the eyes of a fresh corpse

Which no beloved hand has closed.

Alas!

That is the breast which Margaret yielded to me—

Those are the lovely limbs which I enjoyed!

MEPHISTOPHELES.

It is all magic, poor deluded fool!

She looks to every one like his first love.

FAUST.

O what delight! what woe! I cannot turn My looks from her sweet piteous countenance. How strangely does a single blood-red line, Not broader than the sharp edge of a knife, Adorn her lovely neck!

MEPHISTOPHELES.

Ay, she can carry

Her head under her arm upon occasion;

Perseus has cut it off for her. These pleasures End in delusion.-Gain this rising ground,

It is as airy here as in a [

And if I am not mightily deceived,

]

I see a theatre.-What may this mean?

ATTENDANT.

Quite a new piece, the last of seven, for 'tis
The custom now to represent that number.
'Tis written by a Dilettante, and

The actors who perform are Dilettanti ;
Excuse me, gentlemen; but I must vanish.
I am a Dilettante curtain-lifter.