Faust.
What flood of nonsense now she’s pouring o’er us?
She’ll split my skull with her insensate chatter.
I feel as if I heard the ceaseless clatter
Of thirty thousand idiots in a chorus.
Mephistopheles.
Enough, kind Sibyl; thanks for thy good will!
Now bring your jug here, and the goblet fill
With this prime juice, till it be brimming o’er.
My friend here is a man of high degrees,