For six long days, and, when his work is done,
Says bravo to himself, is it a wonder
He should make one fair thing without a blunder?
For this time give thine eyes their pleasure;
I know how to procure you such an one,
Whence thou mayst drink delight in brimming measure,
And blest the man, for whom Fate shall decide,
To lead home such a treasure as his bride!
[Faust continues gazing on the mirror. Mephistopheles stretches himself on the arm-chair, and, playing with the brush, goes on as follows.]
Here, from my throne, a monarch, I look down: