In the tree there sat an ugly owl;
I called it fair, though it was foul.
The Old Witch.
My best salute this night shall be,
Thou knight of the cloven foot, to thee;
A cloven tree with an ugly owl,
And I for thee, or fair, or foul.
Proctophantasmist.[n14] [to the dancers]
Listen to order, you presumptuous brood!
Have we not proved beyond disputing,
That ghosts on terra firma have no footing?
And yet you dance like any flesh and blood?
The Young Witch. [dancing]
What wants he here, that rude-like fellow there?
Faust. [dancing]
O, he is everywhere!
What others dance ’tis his to prize;
Each step he cannot criticise
Had as well not been made. But in the dance
It grieves him most when we advance.
If we would wheel still round and round in a ring,
As he is fond to do in his old mill,
He would not take it half so ill;
Especially if you take care to bring
Your praiseful offering to his master skill.
Proctophantasmist.
What! still there, phantoms? this is past endurance!
In this enlightened age you have the assurance
To show your face and play your tricks undaunted;
We are so wise, and yet a man’s own house is haunted.
How long have I not swept the cobwebs of delusion,
And still the world remains in the same wild confusion!
The Young Witch.
Be quiet then, and seek some other place!
Proctophantasmist.
I tell you, Spirits, in your face,
This intellectual thrall I cannot bear it;
I love to have a free unshackled spirit. [The dance goes on.]
To-day I see that all my strength is spent in vain;
I’ve had a tour, at least, to compensate my evils,
And hope, before I come to Blocksberg back again,
To crush, with one good stroke, the poets and the devils.
Mephistopheles.
He will now go, and, bare of breeches,
Sit in a pool with solemn patience;
And, when his buttocks are well sucked by leeches,
Be cured of ghosts and ghostly inspirations.
[To Faust, who has just left the dance.]
Why do you let the lovely damsel go,
That in the dance with sweet song pleased you so?
