MONKEYS

Coarse beggar’s gruel here we stew.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Of customers you’ll have a rout.

THE HE-MONKEY (approaching and fawning on MEPHISTOPHELES)

Quick! quick! throw the dice,
Make me rich in a trice,
Oh give me the prize! 
Alas, for myself,
Had I plenty of pelf,
I then should be wise.

MEPHISTOPHELES

How blest the ape would think himself, if he
Could only put into the lottery!

[In the meantime the young MONKEYS have been playing with a large globe, which they roll forward.]

THE HE-MONKEY

The world behold;
Unceasingly roll’d,
It riseth and falleth ever;
It ringeth like glass! 
How brittle, alas! 
’Tis hollow, and resteth never. 
How bright the sphere,
Still brighter here! 
Now living am I! 
Dear son, beware! 
Nor venture there! 
Thou too must die! 
It is of clay;
’Twill crumble away;
There fragments lie.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Of what use is the sieve

THE HE-MONKEY (taking it down)

The sieve would show,
If thou wert a thief or no?
[He runs to the SHE-MONKEY, and makes her look through it.]

Look through the sieve! 
Dost know him the thief,
And dar’st thou not call him so?

MEPHISTOPHELES (approaching the fire)

And then this pot?

THE MONKEYS

The half-witted sot! 
He knows not the pot! 
He knows not the kettle!

MEPHISTOPHELES

Unmannerly beast! 
Be civil at least!

THE HE-MONKEY

Take the whisk and sit down in the settle!

[He makes MEPHISTOPHELES sit down.]

FAUST (who all this time has been standing before a looking-glass, now approaching, and now retiring front it)

What do I see?  What form, whose charms transcend
The loveliness of earth, is mirror’d here! 
O Love, to waft me to her sphere,
To me the swiftest of thy pinions lend! 
Alas!  If I remain not rooted to this place,
If to approach more near I’m fondly lur’d,
Her image fades, in veiling mist obscur’d!—­
Model of beauty both in form and face! 
Is’t possible?  Hath woman charms so rare? 
In this recumbent form, supremely fair,
The essence must I see of heavenly grace? 
Can aught so exquisite on earth be found?

MEPHISTOPHELES

The six days’ labor of a god, my friend,
Who doth himself cry bravo, at the end,
By something clever doubtless should be crown’d. 
For this time gaze your fill, and when you please
just such a prize for you I can provide;
How blest is he to whom kind fate decrees,
To take her to his home, a lovely bride!