MEPHISTOPHELES
Ask you, pray?
Yourself, perhaps, would keep the bubble?
Then I suggest, ’twere fair and just
To spare the lovely day your lust,
And spare to me the further trouble.
You are not miserly, I trust?
I rub my hands, in expectation tender—
(He places the casket in the press, and locks it again.)
Now quick, away!
The sweet young maiden to betray,
So that by wish and will you bend her;
And you look as though
To the lecture-hall you were forced to go,—
As if stood before you, gray and loath,
Physics and Metaphysics both!
But away!
[Exeunt.
MARGARET (with a lamp)
It is so close, so sultry, here!
(She opens the window)
And yet ’tis not so warm outside.
I feel, I know not why, such fear!—
Would mother came!—where can she bide?
My body’s chill and shuddering,—
I’m but a silly, fearsome thing!