Mephistopheles.  My friend, again thou speakest a wise thought!  I know a natural way to make thee young,—­none apter!  But in another book it must be sought, And is a quite peculiar chapter.

Faust.  I beg to know it.

Mephistopheles.  Well! here’s one that needs no pay,
No help of physic, nor enchanting. 
Out to the fields without delay,
And take to hacking, digging, planting;
Run the same round from day to day,
A treadmill-life, contented, leading,
With simple fare both mind and body feeding,
Live with the beast as beast, nor count it robbery
Shouldst thou manure, thyself, the field thou reapest;
Follow this course and, trust to me,
For eighty years thy youth thou keepest!

Faust.  I am not used to that, I ne’er could bring me to it, To wield the spade, I could not do it.  The narrow life befits me not at all.

Mephistopheles.  So must we on the witch, then, call.

Faust.  But why just that old hag?  Canst thou Not brew thyself the needful liquor?

Mephistopheles.  That were a pretty pastime now
I’d build about a thousand bridges quicker. 
Science and art alone won’t do,
The work will call for patience, too;
Costs a still spirit years of occupation: 
Time, only, strengthens the fine fermentation. 
To tell each thing that forms a part
Would sound to thee like wildest fable! 
The devil indeed has taught the art;
To make it not the devil is able.
      [Espying the animals.]
See, what a genteel breed we here parade! 
This is the house-boy! that’s the maid!
      [To the animals.]
Where’s the old lady gone a mousing?

The animals.  Carousing;
Out she went
By the chimney-vent!

Mephistopheles.  How long does she spend in gadding and storming?

The animals.  While we are giving our paws a warming.

Mephistopheles [to Faust].  How do you find the dainty creatures?

Faust.  Disgusting as I ever chanced to see!

Mephistopheles.  No! a discourse like this to me,
I own, is one of life’s most pleasant features;
      [To the animals.]
Say, cursed dolls, that sweat, there, toiling! 
What are you twirling with the spoon?

Animals.  A common beggar-soup we’re boiling.

Mephistopheles.  You’ll have a run of custom soon.

         THE HE-MONKEY
    [Comes along and fawns on MEPHISTOPHELES]. 
        O fling up the dice,
        Make me rich in a trice,
        Turn fortune’s wheel over! 
        My lot is right bad,
        If money I had,
        My wits would recover.

Mephistopheles.  The monkey’d be as merry as a cricket, Would somebody give him a lottery-ticket!

    [Meanwhile the young monkeys have been playing with a great
     ball, which they roll backward and forward.]