[FAUST continues to gaze into the mirror.]
MEPHISTOPHELES [stretching himself on the settle and playing with the whisk, continues to speak.]
Here sit I, like a king upon his throne;
My sceptre this;—the crown I want alone.
THE MONKEYS (who have hitherto been making all sorts of strange gestures, bring MEPHISTOPHELES a crown, with loud cries)
Oh, be so good,
With sweat and with blood
The crown to lime!
[They handle the crown awkwardly and break it in two pieces, with which they skip about.]
’Twas fate’s decree!
We speak and see!
We hear and rhyme.
FAUST (before the mirror)
Woe’s me! well-nigh distraught I feel!
MEPHISTOPHELES (pointing to the beasts)
And even my own head almost begins to reel.
If good luck attend,
If fitly things blend,
Our jargon with thought
And with reason is fraught!
FAUST (as above)
A flame is kindled in my breast!
Let us begone! nor linger here!
MEPHISTOPHELES (in the same position)
It now at least must be confessed,
That poets sometimes are sincere.
[The caldron which the SHE-MONKEY has neglected begins to boil over; a great flame arises, which streams up the chimney. The WITCH comes down the chimney with horrible cries.]
Ough! ough! ough! ough!
Accursed brute! accursed sow!
The caldron dost neglect, for shame!
Accursed brute to scorch the dame!
(Perceiving FAUST and MEPHISTOPHELES._)
Whom have we here?
Who’s sneaking here?
Whence are ye come?
With what desire?
The plague of fire
Your bones consume!
[She dips the skimming-ladle into the caldron and throws flames at FAUST, MEPHISTOPHELES, and the MONKEYS. The MONKEYS whimper.]
MEPHISTOPHELES (twirling the whisk which he holds in his hand, and striking among the glasses and pots)
There lies the glass!
There lies the slime!
’Tis but a jest;
I but keep time,
Thou hellish pest,
To thine own chime!
[While the WITCH steps back in rage and astonishment.]
Dost know me! Skeleton! Vile scarecrow, thou!
Thy lord and master dost thou know?
What holds me, that I deal not now
Thee and thine apes a stunning blow?
No more respect to my red vest dost pay?
Does my cock’s feather no allegiance claim?
Have I my visage masked today?
Must I be forced myself to name?
Master, forgive this rude salute!
But I perceive no cloven foot.
And your two ravens, where are they?