Chorus of Spirits. [_invisible_] Woe! woe! Thou hast destroyed it! The beautiful world, With mightiest hand, A demigod In ruin has hurled! We weep, And bear its wrecked beauty away, Whence it may never Return to the day. Mightiest one Of the sons of earth, Brightest one, Build it again! Proudly resurgent with lovelier birth In thine own bosom build it again! Life's glad career Anew commence With insight clear, And purgèd sense, The while new songs around thee play, To launch thee on more hopeful way! Mephistopheles. These are the tiny Spirits that wait on me; Hark how to pleasure And action they counsel thee! Into the world wide Would they allure thee, In solitude dull No more to immure thee, No more to sit moping In mouldy mood, With a film on thy sense, And a frost in thy blood! Cease then with thine own peevish whim to play, That like a vulture makes thy life its prey. Society, however low, Still gives thee cause to feel and know Thyself a man, amid thy fellow-men. Yet my intent is not to pen Thee up with the common herd! and though I cannot boast, or rank, or birth Of mighty men, the lords of earth, Yet do I offer, at thy side, Thy steps through mazy life to guide; And, wilt thou join in this adventure, I bind myself by strong indenture, Here, on the spot, with thee to go. Call me companion, comrade brave, Or, if it better please thee so, I am thy servant, am thy slave! Faust. And in return, say, what the fee Thy faithful service claims from me? Mephistopheles. Of that you may consider when you list. Faust. No, no! the devil is an Egotist, And seldom gratis sells his labor, For love of God, to serve his neighbor. Speak boldly out, no private clause conceal; With such as you 'tis dangerous to deal. Mephistopheles. I bind myself to be thy servant here, And wait with sleepless eyes upon thy pleasure, If, when we meet again in _yonder_ sphere, Thou wilt repay my service in like measure. Faust. What _yonder_ is I little reck to know, Provided I be happy here below; The future world will soon enough arise, When the present in ruin lies. 'Tis from this earth my stream of pleasure flows, This sun it is that shines upon my woes; And, were I once from this my home away, Then happen freely what happen may. Nor hope in me it moves, nor fear, If then, as now, we hate and love; Or if in yonder world, as here, An under be, and an above. Mephistopheles. Well, in this humor, you bid fair With hope of good result to dare. Close with my plan, and you will see Anon such pleasant tricks from me, As never eyes of man did bliss From father Adam's time to this.