Faust [enters].  Which way now shall we go?

Mephistopheles.  Which way it pleases thee. 
The little world and then the great we see. 
O with what gain, as well as pleasure,
Wilt thou the rollicking cursus measure!

Faust.  I fear the easy life and free
With my long beard will scarce agree. 
’Tis vain for me to think of succeeding,
I never could learn what is called good-breeding. 
In the presence of others I feel so small;
I never can be at my ease at all.

Mephistopheles.  Dear friend, vain trouble to yourself you’re giving; Whence once you trust yourself, you know the art of living.

Faust.  But how are we to start, I pray?  Where are thy servants, coach and horses?

Mephistopheles.  We spread the mantle, and away
It bears us on our airy courses. 
But, on this bold excursion, thou
Must take no great portmanteau now. 
A little oxygen, which I will soon make ready,
From earth uplifts us, quick and steady. 
And if we’re light, we’ll soon surmount the sphere;
I give thee hearty joy in this thy new career.

      AUERBACH’S CELLAR IN LEIPSIC.[20]

      Carousal of Jolly Companions.

Frosch.[21] Will nobody drink?  Stop those grimaces!  I’ll teach you how to be cutting your faces!  Laugh out!  You’re like wet straw to-day, And blaze, at other times, like dry hay.

Brander.  ’Tis all your fault; no food for fun you bring, Not a nonsensical nor nasty thing.

Frosch [dashes a glass of wine over his bead].  There you have both!

Brander.  You hog twice o’er!

Frosch.  You wanted it, what would you more?

Siebel Out of the door with them that brawl!  Strike up a round; swill, shout there, one and all!  Wake up!  Hurra!

Altmayer.  Woe’s me, I’m lost!  Bring cotton!  The rascal splits my ear-drum.

Siebel.  Only shout on!  When all the arches ring and yell, Then does the base make felt its true ground-swell.

Frosch.  That’s right, just throw him out, who undertakes to fret!  A! tara! lara da!

Altmayer.  A! tara! lara da!

Frosch.  Our whistles all are wet.
           [Sings.]
    The dear old holy Romish realm,
    What holds it still together?

Brander.  A sorry song!  Fie! a political song! 
A tiresome song!  Thank God each morning therefor,
That you have not the Romish realm to care for! 
At least I count it a great gain that He
Kaiser nor chancellor has made of me. 
E’en we can’t do without a head, however;
To choose a pope let us endeavour. 
You know what qualification throws
The casting vote and the true man shows.

Frosch [sings]. 
    Lady Nightingale, upward soar,
    Greet me my darling ten thousand times o’er.