And when I sit me down, I feel no more
A well of life within me than before;
Not ev’n one hairbreadth greater is my height,
Not one inch nearer to the infinite.
Mephistopheles.
My worthy friend, these things you view,
Just as they appear to you;
Some wiser method we must shape us,
Ere the joys of life escape us.
Why, what the devil! hands and feet,