[Peasants (under the linden).  Dance and song.]

The shepherd prinked him for the dance,
With jacket gay and spangle’s glance,
And all his finest quiddle. 
And round the linden lass and lad
They wheeled and whirled and danced like mad. 
Huzza! huzza! 
Huzza!  Ha, ha, ha! 
And tweedle-dee went the fiddle.

And in he bounded through the whirl,
And with his elbow punched a girl,
Heigh diddle, diddle! 
The buxom wench she turned round quick,
“Now that I call a scurvy trick!”
Huzza! huzza! 
Huzza! ha, ha, ha! 
Tweedle-dee, tweedle-dee went the fiddle.

And petticoats and coat-tails flew
As up and down they went, and through,
Across and down the middle. 
They all grew red, they all grew warm,
And rested, panting, arm in arm,
Huzza! huzza! 
Ta-ra-la! 
Tweedle-dee went the fiddle!

“And don’t be so familiar there! 
How many a one, with speeches fair,
His trusting maid will diddle!”
But still he flattered her aside—­
And from the linden sounded wide: 
Huzza! huzza! 
Huzza! huzza! ha! ha! ha! 
And tweedle-dee the fiddle.

Old Peasant. Sir Doctor, this is kind of you,
That with us here you deign to talk,
And through the crowd of folk to-day
A man so highly larned, walk. 
So take the fairest pitcher here,
Which we with freshest drink have filled,
I pledge it to you, praying aloud
That, while your thirst thereby is stilled,
So many days as the drops it contains
May fill out the life that to you remains.

Faust. I take the quickening draught and call For heaven’s best blessing on one and all.

[The people form a circle round him.]

Old Peasant. Your presence with us, this glad day,
We take it very kind, indeed! 
In truth we’ve found you long ere this
In evil days a friend in need! 
Full many a one stands living here,
Whom, at death’s door already laid,
Your father snatched from fever’s rage,
When, by his skill, the plague he stayed. 
You, a young man, we daily saw
Go with him to the pest-house then,
And many a corpse was carried forth,
But you came out alive again. 
With a charmed life you passed before us,
Helped by the Helper watching o’er us.

All. The well-tried man, and may he live, Long years a helping hand to give!

Faust. Bow down to Him on high who sends
His heavenly help and helping friends!
                                [He goes on with WAGNER.]

Wagner. What feelings, O great man, thy heart must swell
Thus to receive a people’s veneration! 
O worthy all congratulation,
Whose gifts to such advantage tell. 
The father to his son shows thee with exultation,
All run and crowd and ask, the circle closer draws,
The fiddle stops, the dancers pause,
Thou goest—­the lines fall back for thee. 
They fling their gay-decked caps on high;
A little more and they would bow the knee
As if the blessed Host came by.