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Then do not think to-day of sparing scenery
Command enough of dresses and machinery;
Use as you please-fire, water, thunder, levin-
The greater and the lesser lights of heaven.
Squander away the stars at your free pleasure,
And build up rocks and mountains without measure.
Of birds and beasts we've plenty here to lavish,
Come, cast away all apprehensions slavish-
Strut, on our narrow stage, with lofty stature,
As moving through the circle of wide nature,
Hurry with speed more swift than words can tell,
Rapid as thought-from HEAVEN-through EARTH

-to HELL.

PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN.

DER HERR, THE HEAVENLY HOSTS, afterwards

MEPHISTOPHELES.

The three Archangels come forward.

RAPHAEL.

THE sun, as in the ancient days,
'Mong sister stars in rival song,
His destined path observes, obeys,
And still in thunder rolls along :
New strength and full beatitude
The angels gather from his sight,
Mysterious all-yet all is good,
All fair as at the birth of light!

GABRIEL.

Swift, unimaginably swift,

Soft spins the earth, and glories bright

Of mid-day Eden change and shift

To shades of deep and spectral night.

The vexed sea foams

-

waves leap and moan,

And chide the rocks with insult hoarse,
And wave and rock are hurried on,
And suns and stars in endless course.

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And winds with winds mad war maintain,
From sea to land, from land to sea;
And heave round earth, a living chain
Of interwoven agency

Guides of the bursting thunder-peal,
Fast lightnings flash with deadly ray,
While, Lord, with Thee thy servants feel
Calm effluence of abiding day.

ALL.

New strength and full beatitude
The angels gather from thy sight;
Mysterious all, yet all is good,

All fair as at the birth of light.

MEPHISTOPHeles.

Since Thou, O Lord, dost visit us once more,
To ask how things are going on, and since
You have received me kindly heretofore,
I venture to the levee of my prince.
Pardon me, if I fail, after the sort

Of bending courtiers here, to pay my court;

The company is far too fine for me,

They smile with scorn such folk in heaven to see.
High hymns and solemn words are not my forte.
Pathos from me would look too like a joke;
Words, that from others had set angels weeping,
To laughter would your very self provoke,
If laughter were not wholly out of keeping.
Nothing of suns or worlds have I to say,
I only see how men fret on their day;
The little god of earth is still the same
Strange thing he was, when first to life he came ;
That life were somewhat better, if the light

Of Heaven had not been given to spoil him quite.
Reason he calls it-see its blessed fruit,

Than the brute beast man is a beastlier brute;
He seems to me, if I may venture on

Such a comparison, to be like one

Of those long lank-legged grashoppers, whose song The self-same creak, chirps, as they bound along, Monotonous and restless in the grass,

'Twere well 'twas in grass always; but, alas, They thrust their snouts in every filth they pass. Der Herr.

Hast thou no more than this to say,
Thou, who complainest every day?
Are all things evil in thy sight?
Does nothing on the earth move right?

MEPHISTOPHEles.

Not any thing, my lord-poor men so fervent
And foolish are-I almost feel compassion.

Der Herr.

Dost thou know FAUST?

MEPHISTOPHEles.

The doctor?

Der Herr.

Yes: my servant.

MEPHISTOPHeles.

Truly, he serves in a peculiar fashion;
Child though he be of human birth,
His food and drink are not of earth.
Foolish -even he at times will feel
The folly in such hopes to deal:-
His fancies hurry him afar;

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Of heaven he asks its highest star;
Self-willed and spoiled, in mad pursuit,
Of earth demands its fairest fruit;
And all that both can give supplied,
Behold him still unsatisfied!

Der Herr.

Yes: for he serves in a perplexing scene,
That oft misleads him. Still his WILL is right;

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