_Sp._ A moiety, ye gods, he, he! _Di._ Three-quarters then? O griping beast; Leave me a decimal at least. _Sp._ Oh, one of ten! to infect the nine And make the devil a one be mine! Oh, one! to jib all day, God wot, When all the rest would go full trot! One very little one, eh? to doubt with, Just to pause, think, and look about with? In course! you counted on no less— You thought it likely I’d say yes! _Di._ Be it then thus—since that it must, it seems. Welcome, O world, henceforth; and farewell dreams! Yet know, Mephisto, know, nor you nor I Can in this matter either sell or buy; For the fee simple of this trifling lot To you or me, trust me, pertaineth not. I can but render what is of my will, And behind it somewhat remaineth still. Oh, your sole chance was in the childish mind Whose darkness dreamed that vows like this could bind; Thinking all lost, it made all lost, and brought In fact the ruin which had been but thought. Thank Heaven (or you) that’s past these many years, And we have knowledge wiser than our fears. So your poor bargain take, my man, And make the best of it you can. _Sp._ With reservations! oh, how treasonable! When I had let you off so reasonable. However, I don’t fear; be it so! Brutus is honourable, I know; So mindful of the dues of others, So thoughtful for his poor dear brothers, So scrupulous, considerate, kind— He wouldn’t leave the devil behind If he assured him he had claims For his good company to hell-flames! No matter, no matter, the bargain’s made; And I for my part will not be afraid. With reservations! oh! ho, ho! But time, my friend, has yet to show Which of us two will closest fit The proverb of the Biter Bit. _Di._ Tell me thy name, now it is over. _Sp._ Oh! Why, Mephistophiles, you know— At least you’ve lately called me so; Belial it was some days ago. But take your pick; I’ve got a score— Never a royal baby more. For a brass plate upon a door What think you of _Cosmocrator_? _Di._ Τοὺς κοσμοκράτορας τοῦ αἰῶνος τούτου. And that you are indeed, I do not doubt you. _Sp._ Ephesians, ain’t it? near the end You dropt a word to spare your friend. What follows, too, in application Would be absurd exaggeration. _Di._ The Power of this World! hateful unto God. _Sp._ Cosmarchon’s shorter, but sounds odd: One wouldn’t like, even if a true devil, To be taken for a vulgar Jew devil. _Di._ Yet in all these things we—’tis Scripture too— Are more than conquerors, even over you. _Sp._ Come, come, don’t maunder any longer, Time tests the weaker and the stronger; And we, without procrastination, Must set, you know, to our vocation. O goodness; won’t you find it pleasant To own the positive and present; To see yourself like people round, And feel your feet upon the ground! (_Exeunt._) END OF DIPSYCHUS. EPILOGUE TO DIPSYCHUS.