The Lord. So be it; meanwhile, to tempt him thou are free; Go, drag this spirit from his native fount, And lead him on, canst thou his will surmount, Into perdition down with thee; But stand ashamed at last, when thou shalt see An honest man, 'mid all his strivings dark, Finds the right way, though lit but by a spark. Mephistopheles. Well, well; short time will show; into my net I'll draw the fish, and then I've won my bet; And when I've carried through my measure Loud blast of trump shall blaze my glory; Dust shall he eat, and that with pleasure, Like my cousin the snake in the rare old story. The Lord. And thou mayst show thee here in upper sky Unhindered, when thou hast a mind; I never hated much thee or thy kind; Of all the spirits that deny, The clever rogue sins least against my mind. For, in good sooth, the mortal generation, When a soft pillow they may haply find, Are far too apt to sink into stagnation; And therefore man for comrade wisely gets A devil, who spurs, and stimulates, and whets. But you, ye sons of heaven's own choice, In the one living Beautiful rejoice! The self-evolving Energy divine Enclasp you round with love's embrace benign, And on the floating forms of earth and sky Stamp the fair type of thought that may not die. Mephistopheles. From time to time the ancient gentleman I see, and keep on the best terms I can. In a great Lord 'tis surely wondrous civil So face to face to hold talk with the devil. FAUST. ACT I. Scene I. /Night/. /Faust/ _discovered sitting restless at his desk, in a narrow high-vaulted Gothic chamber._ Faust. There now, I've toiled my way quite through Law, Medicine, and Philosophy, And, to my sorrow, also thee, Theology, with much ado; And here I stand, poor human fool, As wise as when I went to school. Master, ay, Doctor, titled duly, An urchin-brood of boys unruly For ten slow-creeping years and mo, Up and down, and to and fro, I lead by the nose: and this I know, That vain is all our boasted lore-- A thought that burns me to the core! True, I am wiser than all their tribe, Doctor, Master, Priest, and Scribe; No scruples nor doubts in my bosom dwell, I fear no devil, believe no hell; But with my fear all joy is gone, All rare conceit of wisdom won; All dreams so fond, all faith so fair, To make men better than they are. Nor gold have I, nor gear, nor fame, Station, or rank, or honored name, Here like a kennelled cur I lie! Therefore the magic art I'll try, From spirit's might and mouth to draw, Mayhap, some key to Nature's law; That I no more, with solemn show, May sweat to teach what I do not know; That I may ken the bond that holds The world, through all its mystic folds; The hidden seeds of things explore, And cheat my thought with words no more.