Mephistopheles. We only need your mantle to unfold, And it shall waft us on the wind. Who makes with me this journey bold No bulky bundle busks behind; A single puff of inflammable air, And from the ground we nimbly fare. Lightly we float. I wish the best of cheer To Doctor Faustus on his new career. /end of act second/. ACT III. Scene I. _Auerbach's Wine-cellar, Leipzig._ _A Bout of Merry Fellows._ Frosch. Will no one sing? none crack a joke? I'll teach you to make saucy faces! Like old wet straw to-day you smoke, While bright as flame your wonted blaze is. Brander. The blame lies with yourself, for you have given us To-day no fun nor frolic to enliven us. Frosch. [_throwing a glass of wine over his head_] There hast thou both! Brander. Double swine! Frosch. You asked a joke--I gave it you in wine! Siebel. Out at the door with all who dare to quarrel! Give all your pipes full play! this is no place to snarl. Up! hollo! ho! Altmayer. Woe's me! the devil and his crew are here! Some cotton, ho! he makes my ear-drum crack. Siebel. Roar on! for, when the vault loud echoes back, The deep bass notes come thundering on the ear. Frosch. Right, right! out with each saucy fellow! A! tara lara da! Altmayer. A tara lara da! Frosch. Our throats are now quite mellow. [_Sings._] The holy Roman empire now, How does it hold together? A clumsy song!--fie! a political song! A scurvy song! thank God, with each to-morrow, The Roman empire can give you small sorrow; For me, I deem I'm wealthier and wiser For being neither Chancellor nor Kaiser. Yet even we must have a head to rule us; Let's choose a pope in drinking well to school us, Come, well you know the qualification That lifts a man to consideration. Frosch. [_sings_] Mount up, lady nightingale, Greet my love ten thousand times! Siebel. No, sir, not once,--I'll hear no more of this. Frosch. But you _shall_ hear!--A greeting and a kiss! [_He sings._] Ope the door in silent night. Ope and let me in, I pray; Shut the door, the morn is bright, Shut it, love, I must away! Siebel. Yes! sing and sing! belaud her, and berhyme! I'll have my laugh at that--all in good time! She jilted me right rarely; soon She'll make thee sing to the same tune; 'Twere fit a Kobold with his love should bless her, On some cross-road to cocker and caress her; Or that some old he-goat, that tramps away From merry Blocksberg on the first of May, Should greet her passing with a lusty baa! An honest man of genuine flesh and blood Is for the wench by far too good. Batter her doors, her windows shiver, That's all the serenade I'd give her!