Mephistopheles. What! so far in the rear! Why then 'tis time that I should use my right, As master of the house to-night. Make way! Squire Voland comes,[*n12] sweet mob, make way! Here, Doctor, hold by me!--and now, I say, We must cut clear Of this wild hubbub, while we may; Even my cloth is puzzled here. See'st thou that light on yonder mound quite near, It hath a most peculiar glare, We'll slip in there, And watch behind the bush the humors of the Fair. Faust. Strange son of contradiction!--may'st even guide us! A rare conceit! of course you must be right; This weary way we march on famed Walpurgis night, Like hermits in a corner here to hide us! Mephistopheles. Lo! where the flames mount up with bickering glee; In sooth it is a goodly company. In such a place one cannot be alone. Faust. And yet a place I'd rather own Upon the top, where whirling smoke I see; There thousands to the evil Spirit hie, And many a riddle there he will untie. Mephistopheles. Yes: and for every knot he disentangles, He'll make another to produce new wrangles. Let the great world rant and riot, We'll know to house us here in quiet; In the great world 'tis a sanctioned plan, Each makes a little world the best he can. Look there; you see young witches without cover, And old ones prudently veiled over; Yield but to me, and I can promise thee, With little labor, mickle glee. I hear their noisy instruments begin! Confound their scraping!--one must bear the din. Come, come! what must be must be--let's go in! With my good introduction on this night, Thou shalt have laughter to thy heart's delight. What say'st thou, friend? this is no common show, A hundred lights are burning in a row, You scarce may see the end; They dance, they talk, they cook, they drink, they court; Now tell me, saw you ever better sport? Faust. Say, in what character do you intend To appear here, and introduce your friend? Devil or conjurer? Mephistopheles. I love incognito, Yet on a gala-day my order I may show; And, though a garter here is but of small avail, The famous horse's foot I ne'er yet knew to fail. See even now that cautious creeping snail! With her long feeling visage, she Has smelt out something of hell in me. Do what I can, they have a snout, In this keen air to scent me out; Come! come; from fire to fire we roam; the game Be mine to start, and yours to woo the dame. [_To some who are sitting round a glimmering coal-fire._] Why mope you here, old sirs, toasting your toes? Methinks your Brocken hours were better spent Amid the youthful roar and merriment; One is enough alone at home, God knows.