And yet you dance like any flesh and blood?

The Young Witch. [dancing]

What wants he here, that rude-like fellow there?

Faust. [dancing]

O, he is everywhere!

What others dance ’tis his to prize;

Each step he cannot criticise

Had as well not been made. But in the dance

It grieves him most when we advance.

If we would wheel still round and round in a ring,