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_ FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES.
FAUST.
How now? What progress? Will 't come right?
MEPHISTOPHELES.
Ha, bravo? So you're all on fire?
Full soon you'll see whom you desire.
In neighbor Martha's grounds we are to meet tonight.
That woman's one of nature's picking
For pandering and gipsy-tricking!
FAUST.
So far, so good!
MEPHISTOPHELES.
But one thing we must do.
FAUST.
Well, one good turn deserves another, true.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
We simply make a solemn deposition
That her lord's bones are laid in good condition
In holy ground at Padua, hid from view.
FAUST.
That's wise! But then we first must make the journey thither?
MEPHISTOPHELES.
Sancta simplicitas_! no need of such to-do;
Just swear, and ask not why or whether.
FAUST.
If that's the best you have, the plan's not worth a feather.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
O holy man! now that's just you!
In all thy life hast never, to this hour,
To give false witness taken pains?
Have you of God, the world, and all that it contains,
Of man, and all that stirs within his heart and brains,
Not given definitions with great power,
Unscrupulous breast, unblushing brow?
And if you search the matter clearly,
Knew you as much thereof, to speak sincerely,
As of Herr Schwerdtlein's death? Confess it now!
FAUST.
Thou always wast a sophist and a liar.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
Ay, if one did not look a little nigher.
For will you not, in honor, to-morrow
Befool poor Margery to her sorrow,
And all the oaths of true love borrow?
FAUST.
And from the heart, too.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
Well and fair!
Then there'll be talk of truth unending,
Of love o'ermastering, all transcending--
Will every word be heart-born there?
FAUST.
Enough! It will!--If, for the passion
That fills and thrills my being's frame,
I find no name, no fit expression,
Then, through the world, with all my senses, ranging,
Seek what most strongly speaks the unchanging.
And call this glow, within me burning,
Infinite--endless--endless yearning,
Is that a devilish lying game?
MEPHISTOPHELES.
I'm right, nathless!
FAUST.
Now, hark to me--
This once, I pray, and spare my lungs, old fellow--
Whoever _will_ be right, and has a tongue to bellow,
Is sure to be.
But come, enough of swaggering, let's be quit,
For thou art right, because I must submit. _
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