Mephistopheles.  What will you bet?  You’ll surely lose your wager! 
If you will give me leave henceforth,
To lead him softly on, like an old stager.

The Lord.  So long as he shall live on earth,
Do with him all that you desire. 
Man errs and staggers from his birth.

Mephistopheles.  Thank you; I never did aspire
To have with dead folk much transaction. 
In full fresh cheeks I take the greatest satisfaction. 
A corpse will never find me in the house;
I love to play as puss does with the mouse.

The Lord.  All right, I give thee full permission! 
Draw down this spirit from its source,
And, canst thou catch him, to perdition
Carry him with thee in thy course,
But stand abashed, if thou must needs confess,
That a good man, though passion blur his vision,
Has of the right way still a consciousness.

Mephistopheles.  Good! but I’ll make it a short story. 
About my wager I’m by no means sorry. 
And if I gain my end with glory
Allow me to exult from a full breast. 
Dust shall he eat and that with zest,
Like my old aunt, the snake, whose fame is hoary.

The Lord.  Well, go and come, and make thy trial;
The like of thee I never yet did hate. 
Of all the spirits of denial
The scamp is he I best can tolerate. 
Man is too prone, at best, to seek the way that’s easy,
He soon grows fond of unconditioned rest;
And therefore such a comrade suits him best,
Who spurs and works, true devil, always busy. 
But you, true sons of God, in growing measure,
Enjoy rich beauty’s living stores of pleasure! 
The Word[3] divine that lives and works for aye,
Fold you in boundless love’s embrace alluring,
And what in floating vision glides away,
That seize ye and make fast with thoughts enduring.

[Heaven closes, the archangels disperse.]

Mephistopheles. [Alone.] I like at times to exchange with him a word,
And take care not to break with him.  ’Tis civil
In the old fellow[4] and so great a Lord
To talk so kindly with the very devil.

    FAUST.

    Night.  In a narrow high-arched Gothic room,
    FAUST sitting uneasy at his desk.

Faust.  Have now, alas! quite studied through
Philosophy and Medicine,
And Law, and ah!  Theology, too,
With hot desire the truth to win! 
And here, at last, I stand, poor fool! 
As wise as when I entered school;
Am called Magister, Doctor, indeed,—­
Ten livelong years cease not to lead
Backward and forward, to and fro,
My scholars by the nose—­and lo! 
Just nothing, I see, is the sum of our learning,
To the very core of my heart ’tis burning. 
’Tis true I’m more clever than all the foplings,
Doctors, Magisters, Authors, and Popelings;
Am plagued by no scruple, nor doubt, nor cavil,