/Faust/ _and_ /Mephistopheles/. Faust. In misery! in despair! Wandering in hopeless wretchedness over the wide earth, and at last made prisoner! Shut up like a malefactor in a dungeon, victim of the most horrible woes--poor miserable girl! Must it then come to this? Thou treacherous and worthless Spirit! this hast thou concealed from me!--Stand thou there! stand!--Roll round thy fiendish eyes, infuriate in thy head! Stand and confront me with thy insupportable presence. A prisoner! in irredeemable misery! given over to evil Spirits, and to the condemning voice of the unfeeling world! and me, meanwhile, thou cradlest to sleep amid a host of the most vapid dissipations, concealing from my knowledge her aggravated woes!--while she--she is left in hopeless wretchedness to die! Mephistopheles. She's not the first. Faust. Dog! abominable monster!--Change him, O thou infinite Spirit! change the reptile back again into his original form--the poodle that ran before me in the twilight, now cowering at the feet of the harmless wanderer, now springing on his shoulders!--Change him again into his favorite shape, that he may crouch on his belly in the sand before me, and I may tramp him underneath my feet, the reprobate!--Not the first! Misery, misery! by no human soul to be conceived! that more than one creature of God should ever have been plunged into the depth of this woe! that the first, in the writhing agony of her death, should not have atoned for the guilt of all the rest before the eyes of the All-merciful! It digs even into the marrow of my life, the misery of this _one_; and thou--thou grinnest in cold composure over the wretchedness of thousands! Mephistopheles. Here we are arrived once more at the limit of our wits, where the thread of human reason snaps in sunder. Wherefore seekest thou communion with us, unless thou would'st carry it through? Would'st fly, and yet art not proof against giddiness? Did we thrust ourselves on you, or you on us? Faust. Whet not thy rows of voracious teeth at me! I loathe it!--Great and glorious Spirit, who didst condescend to reveal thyself to me, who knowest my heart and my soul, wherefore didst thou yoke me to this vilest of complices, who feeds on mischief and banquets on destruction? Mephistopheles. Art done? Faust. Deliver her! or woe thee!--the direst of curses lie on thee forever! Mephistopheles. I cannot loose the bonds of the avenger, nor open his bars.--Deliver her! Who was it that plunged her into ruin? I or thou? [/Faust/ _looks wildly round._ Mephistopheles. [_continues_] Would'st grasp the thunder? 'Tis well that you, poor mortals, have it not to wield! To smash the innocent in pieces is the proper tyrant's fashion of venting one's spleen in a dilemma. Faust. Bring me to her! She shall be free!