PEDLAR-WITCH. Look here, Gentlemen; do not hurry on so fast, Is nothing like what may be found on earth; Men and the world with fine malicious mischief.- MEPHISTOPHELES. Gossip, you know little of these times. What has been, has been; what is done, is past. Lilith, the first wife of Adam. Beware of her fair hair, for she excels 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 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 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; Is not to be considered as a step. There are few things that scandalise him not; PROCTO-PHANTASMIST. Fly! Vanish! Unheard-of impudence! What, still there! Come clean with all my pains!—it is a case THE GIRL. Then leave off teasing us so. PROCTO-PHANTASMIST. I tell you, spirits, to your faces now, MEPHISTOPHELES. At last he will sit down in some foul puddle; Until some leech, diverted with his gravity, [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 MEPHISTOPHELES. That was all right, my friend : Be it enough that the mouse was not grey. 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, MEPHISTOPHELES. Let it be-pass on No good can come of it-it is not well 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 actors who perform are Dilettanti ; |