Here, Doctor, hold by me!—and now, I say,
We must cut clear
Of this wild hubbub, while we may;
Even my cloth is puzzled here.
See’st thou that light on yonder mound quite near,
It hath a most peculiar glare,
We’ll slip in there,
And watch behind the bush the humours of the Fair.
Faust.
Strange son of contradiction!—may’st even guide us!