FAUST
Thy head is out of order, sadly:
It much becomes thee to be raving madly.
MEPHISTOPHELES
Just think, the pocket of a priest should get
The trinkets left for Margaret!
The mother saw them, and, instanter,
A secret dread began to haunt her.
Keen scent has she for tainted air;
She snuffs within her book of prayer,
And smells each article, to see
If sacred or profane it be;
So here she guessed, from every gem,
That not much blessing came with them.
“My child,” she said, “ill-gotten good
Ensnares the soul, consumes the blood.
Before the Mother of God we’ll lay it;
With heavenly manna she’ll repay it!”
But Margaret thought, with sour grimace,
“A gift-horse is not out of place,
And, truly! godless cannot be
The one who brought such things to me.”
A parson came, by the mother bidden:
He saw, at once, where the game was hidden,
And viewed it with a favor stealthy.
He spake: “That is the proper view,—
Who overcometh, winneth too.
The Holy Church has a stomach healthy:
Hath eaten many a land as forfeit,
And never yet complained of surfeit:
The Church alone, beyond all question,
Has for ill-gotten goods the right digestion.”
FAUST
A general practice is the same,
Which Jew and King may also claim.
MEPHISTOPHELES
Then bagged the spangles, chains, and rings,
As if but toadstools were the things,
And thanked no less, and thanked no more
Than if a sack of nuts he bore,—
Promised them fullest heavenly pay,
And deeply edified were they.
FAUST
And Margaret?