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Faust. There sit a girl and an oid women-Shey
Seem to be tired with pleasure and with play.

Meph. There is no rest to-night for any one:
When one dance ends another is began;
Come, let us to it. We shall have rare fun.

[Faust dances and sings with a Girl, and Mephiste
pheles with an old Woman.
Brocto-phantasmist. What is this cursed multitudo
about?

Have we not long since proved to demonstration
That ghosts move not on ordinary feet?
But these are dancing just like men and women.
The Girl. What does he want then at our ball!
Faust.
Oh! he

Is far above us all in his conceit:
Whilst we enjoy, he reasons of enjoyment;
And any step which in our dance we tread,
If it be left out of his reckoning,
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.
Brocto-phantasmist.

Fly!

Vanish ! Unheard of impudence! What, still there!
In this enlightened age too, since you have been
Proved not to exist!-But this infernal brood
Will hear no reason and endure no rule.
Are we so wise, and is the pond still haunted!
How long bave I been sweeping out this rubbish
Of superstition, and the world will not

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Come clean with all my pains !—it is a case

Unheard of!

Then leave off teazing us so.
I tell you, spirits, to your faces

The Girl.
Brocto-phantasmist.

now,

That I should not regret this despotism
Of spirits, but that mine can wield it not.
To-night I shall make poor work of it,
Yet I will take a round with you, and hope
Before my last step in the living dance

To beat the poet and the devil together.

Meph. At last he will sit down in some foul puddle; That is his way of solacing himself; Until some leech, diverted with his gravity, Cures him of spirits and the spirit together.

[To Faust, who has seceded from the dance. Why do you let that fair girl pass from you, Who sang so sweetly to you in the dance?

Faust. A red mouse in the middle of her singing Sprang from her mouth.

Meph.

That was all right, my friend.
Be it enough that the mouse was not grey.
Do not disturb your hour of happiness
With close consideration of such trifles.
Faust. Then saw I-

What?

Meph.

Faust. Seest thou not a pale Fair girl, standing alone, far, far away? She drags herself now forward with slow steps, And seems as if she moved with shackled feet: I cannot overcome the thought that she

Is like poor Margaret.

Let it be-pass on

Meph.
No good can come of it-it is not well

To meet it-it is an enchanted phantom,
A lifeless idol; with its numbing look,
It freezes up the blood of man; and they
Who meet its ghastly stare are turned to stone,
Like those who saw Medusa.

Faust.
Oh, too true!
Her eyes are like the eyes of a fresh corpse
Which no beloved hand has closed. Alas!
That is the heart which Margaret yielded to me-
Those are the lovely limbs which I enjoyed!
Meph. It is all magic, poor deluded fool;
She looks to every one like his first love.
Faust.

what delight! what woe! I cannot turn
My looks from her sweet piteous countenance.
How strangely does a single blood-red line,
Not broader than the sharp edge of a knife,
Adorn her lovely neck!

Meph.
Aye, 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

The custom now to represent that number.
"Tis written by a Dilettante, and
The actors who perform are Dilettanti;
Excuse me, gentlemen; but I must vanish.
I am a Dilettante curtain-lifter.

END OF THE MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

Come clean with all my pains !—it is a case

Unheard of!

The Girl.
Brocto-phantasmist.

Then leave off teazing us so.
I tell you, spirits, to your faces

now,

That I should not regret this despotism
Of spirits, but that mine can wield it not.
To-night I shall make poor work of it,
Yet I will take a round with you, and hope
Before my last step in the living dance

To beat the poet and the devil together.

Meph. At last he will sit down in some foul puddle;
That is his way of solacing himself;
Until some leech, diverted with his gravity,
Cures him of spirits and the spirit together.

[To Faust, who has seceded from the dance.
Why do you let that fair girl pass from you,
Who sang so sweetly to you in the dance?

Faust. A red mouse in the middle of her singing
Sprang from her mouth.

Meph.

That was all right, my friend.
Be it enough that the mouse was not grey.
Do not disturb your hour of happiness
With close consideration of such trifles.
Faust. Then saw I-

Meph.

What?

Faust.

Fair girl, standing alone, far, far away?
She drags herself now forward with slow steps,

Seest thou not a pale

seems as if she moved with shackled feet:

And

I cannot overcome the thought that she Is like poor Margaret.

Meph. No good

Let it be-pass oncan come of it-it is not well

To meet it-it is an enchanted phantom,
A lifeless idol; with its numbing look,
It freezes up the blood of man; and they
Who meet its ghastly stare are turned to stone,
Like those who saw Medusa.

Faust.
Oh, too true!
Her eyes are like the eyes of a fresh corpse
Which no beloved hand has closed. Alas!
That is the heart which Margaret yielded to me-
Those are the lovely limbs which I enjoyed!

Meph. It is all magic, poor deluded fool;
She looks to every one like his first love.

Faust. what delight! what woe! I cannot turn
My looks from her sweet piteous countenance.
How strangely does a single blood-red line,
Not broader than the sharp edge of a knife,
Adorn her lovely neck!

Meph.
Aye, 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

The custom now to represent that number.
"Tis written by a Dilettante, and
The actors who perform are Dilettanti;
Excuse me, gentlemen; but I must vanish.
I am a Dilettante curtain-lifter.

END OF THE MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

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