Faust

FAUST walking thoughtfully up and down. To him
MEPHISTOPHELES.

By all rejected love! By hellish fire I curse,
Would I knew aught to make my imprecation worse!

What aileth thee? what chafes thee now so sore?
A face like that I never saw before!

I'd yield me to the devil instantly,
Did it not happen that myself am he!

There must be some disorder in thy wit!
To rave thus like a madman, is it fit?