For six long days, and, when his work is done,
Says bravo to himself, is it a wonder
He should make one fair thing without a blunder?
For this time give thine eyes their pleasure;
I know how to procure you such an one,
Whence thou mayst drink delight in brimming measure,
And blest the man, for whom Fate shall decide,
To lead home such a treasure as his bride!
[Faust continues gazing on the mirror. Mephistopheles stretches himself on the arm-chair, and, playing with the brush, goes on as follows:]
Here, from my throne, a monarch, I look down:
My sceptre this: I wait to get my crown.
The Animals. [Who had in the interval been wheeling about with strange antic gestures, bring a crown to Mephistopheles, with loud shouts.]
O be but so good,
With sweat and with blood,
Your crown to glue,
As monarchs do!
[They use the crown rather roughly, in consequence of which it falls into two pieces, with which they jump about.]
O sorrow and shame!
’Tis broken, no doubt:
But we’ll make a name,
When our poem comes out!
Faust. [gazing on the mirror]
Woe’s me! her beauty doth my wits confound.
Mephistopheles. [pointing to the Brutes]
And even my good brain is whirling round and round.
The Brutes.
And if we well speed,
As speed well we ought,
We are makers indeed,
We are moulders of thought.
Faust. [as above]
I burn, I burn! this rapturous glow
Consumes me sheer!—come, let us go!
Mephistopheles. [as above]
One must, at least, confess that they
Are honest poets in their way.
[The kettle, which had been neglected by the Mother Cat-Ape begins to boil over: A great flame arises, and runs up the chimney. The Witch comes through the flame, down the chimney, with a terrible noise.
The Witch.
Ow! ow! ow! ow!
Thou damnèd brute! thou cursèd sow!
To leave the kettle and singe the frow!
Thou cursed imp, thou!
[Turning to Faust and Mephistopheles.]
What’s this here now?
Who are you? who are you?
What’s here ado?
Ye are scouts! ye are scouts!
Out with the louts!
A fiery arrow
Consume your marrow!
