Faust [facing the mirror].  Woe’s me!  I’ve almost lost my wits.

Mephistopheles [pointing to the animals].  My head, too, I confess, is very near to spinning.

The animals.  And then if it hits
        And every thing fits,
        We’ve thoughts for our winning.

Faust [as before].  Up to my heart the flame is flying!  Let us begone—­there’s danger near!

Mephistopheles [in the former position].  Well, this, at least, there’s no denying, That we have undissembled poets here.

[The kettle, which the she-monkey has hitherto left unmatched, begins to run over; a great flame breaks out, which roars up the chimney.  The_ WITCH comes riding down through the flame with a terrible outcry.]

Witch.  Ow!  Ow!  Ow!  Ow! 
      The damned beast!  The cursed sow! 
      Neglected the kettle, scorched the Frau! 
      The cursed crew!
        [Seeing FAUST and MEPHISTOPHELES.]
      And who are you? 
      And what d’ye do? 
      And what d’ye want? 
      And who sneaked in? 
      The fire-plague grim
      Shall light on him
      In every limb!

     [She makes a dive at the kettle with the skimmer and spatters flames
      at FAUST, MEPHISTOPHELES_, and the creatures.  These last whimper_.]

          MEPHISTOPHELES
     [inverting the brush which he holds in his hand, and striking
      among the glasses and pots].

      In two!  In two! 
      There lies the brew! 
      There lies the glass! 
      This joke must pass;
      For time-beat, ass! 
      To thy melody, ’twill do.
    [While the WITCH starts back full of wrath and horror.]
Skeleton!  Scarcecrow!  Spectre!  Know’st thou me, Thy lord and master?  What prevents my dashing
Right in among thy cursed company,
Thyself and all thy monkey spirits smashing? 
Has the red waistcoat thy respect no more? 
Has the cock’s-feather, too, escaped attention? 
Hast never seen this face before? 
My name, perchance, wouldst have me mention?

The witch.  Pardon the rudeness, sir, in me!  But sure no cloven foot I see.  Nor find I your two ravens either.

Mephistopheles.  I’ll let thee off for this once so;
For a long while has passed, full well I know,
Since the last time we met together. 
The culture, too, which licks the world to shape,
The devil himself cannot escape;
The phantom of the North men’s thoughts have left behind them,
Horns, tail, and claws, where now d’ye find them? 
And for the foot, with which dispense I nowise can,
’Twould with good circles hurt my standing;
And so I’ve worn, some years, like many a fine young man,
False calves to make me more commanding.

The witch [dancing].  O I shall lose my wits, I fear, Do I, again, see Squire Satan here!