And even my own head almost begins to reel.
THE MONKEYS
If good luck attend,
If fitly things blend,
Our jargon with thought
And with reason is fraught!
FAUST (as above)
A flame is kindled in my breast!
Let us begone! nor linger here!
MEPHISTOPT'IELES (in the same position)
It now at least must be confessed,
That poets sometimes are sincere.
(The caldron begins to boil over; a great flame arises, which streams up the chimney. The WITCH comes down the chimney with horrible cries.)
THE WITCH
Ough! ough! ough! ough!
Accursed brute! accursed SOW!
The caldron dost neglect, for shame!
Accursed brute to scorch the dame!