Mephistopheles [aside]. I'm heartily tired of this dry prose,
Must play the devil again out hollow.
[Aloud.]
The healing art is quickly comprehended;
Through great and little world you look abroad,
And let it wag, when all is ended,
As pleases God.
Vain is it that your science sweeps the skies,
Each, after all, learns only what he can;
Who grasps the moment as it flies
He is the real man.
Your person somewhat takes the eye,
Boldness you'll find an easy science,
And if you on yourself rely,
Others on you will place reliance.
In the women's good graces seek first to be seated;
Their oh's and ah's, well known of old,
So thousand-fold,
Are all from a single point to be treated;
Be decently modest and then with ease
You may get the blind side of them when you please.
A title, first, their confidence must waken,
That your art many another art transcends,
Then may you, lucky man, on all those trifles reckon
For which another years of groping spends:
Know how to press the little pulse that dances,
And fearlessly, with sly and fiery glances,
Clasp the dear creatures round the waist
To see how tightly they are laced.
Scholar. This promises! One loves the How and Where to see!
Mephistopheles. Gray, worthy friend, is all your theory And green the golden tree of life.
Scholar. I seem,
I swear to you, like one who walks in dream.
Might I another time, without encroaching,
Hear you the deepest things of wisdom broaching?
Mephistopheles. So far as I have power, you may.
Scholar. I cannot tear myself away, Till I to you my album have presented. Grant me one line and I'm contented!
Mephistopheles. With pleasure.
[Writes and returns it.]
Scholar [reads]. Eritis sicut Deus, scientes bonum et malum.
[Shuts it reverently, and bows himself out.]
Mephistopheles.
Let but the brave old saw and my aunt, the serpent, guide thee,
And, with thy likeness to God, shall woe one day betide thee!
Faust [enters]. Which way now shall we go?