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 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 MEPHISTO PHELES with an old Woman. PROCTO-PHANTASMIST What is this cursed multitude about? Have we not long since proved to demonstration THE GIRL. What does he want then at our ball? FAUST. O! 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 scandalize 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 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, Why do 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 gray 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? MEPHISTOPHELES. Let it be-pass on— No good can come of it-it is not well It freezes up the blood of man; and they FAUST. O, too true! Her eyes are like the eyes of a fresh corpse MEPHISTOPHELES. It is all magic, poor deluded fool! FAUST. O what delight! what woe! I cannot turn 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 |