Whither away?

MEPHISTOPHELES

'Tis thine our course to steer.

The little world, and then the great we'll view.

With what delight, what profit too, Thou'lt revel through thy gay career!

FAUST

Despite my length of beard I need The easy manners that insure success; Th' attempt I fear can ne'er succeed; To mingle in the world I want address; I still have an embarra.s.s'd air, and then I feel myself so small with other men.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Time, my good friend, will all that's needful give; Be only self-possessed, and thou hast learn'd to live.

FAUST

But how are we to start, I pray?

Steeds, servants, carriage, where are they?

MEPHISTOPHELES

We've but to spread this mantle wide, 'Twill serve whereon through air to ride; No heavy baggage need you take, When we our bold excursion make.

A little gas, which I will soon prepare, Lifts us from earth; aloft through air, Light-laden, we shall swiftly steer;-- I wish you joy of your new life-career.

AUERBACH'S CELLAR IN LEIPZIG

_A Drinking Party_

FROSCH

No drinking? Naught a laugh to raise?

None of your gloomy looks, I pray!

You, who so bright were wont to blaze, Are dull as wetted straw today.

BRANDER

'Tis all your fault; your part you do not bear, No beastliness, no folly.

FROSCH (_pours a gla.s.s of wine over his head_)

There, You have them both!

BRANDER

You double beast!

FROSCH

'Tis what you ask'd me for, at least!

SIEBEL

Whoever quarrels, turn him out!

With open throat drink, roar, and shout.

Hollo! Hollo! Ho!

ALTMAYER

Zounds, fellow, cease your deaf'ning cheers!

Bring cotton-wool! He splits my ears.

SIEBEL

'Tis when the roof rings back the tone, Then first the full power of the ba.s.s is known.

FROSCH

Right! out with him who takes offence!

A! tara lara da!

ALTMAYER

A! tara lara da!

FROSCH

Our throats are tuned. Come, let's commence!

(_Sings_)

The holy Roman empire now, How holds it still together?

BRANDER

An ugly song! a song political!

A song offensive! Thank G.o.d, every morn, To rule the Roman empire that you were not born!

I bless my stars at least that mine is not Either a kaiser's or a chancellor's lot.

Yet, 'among ourselves, should one still lord it o'er the rest; That we elect a pope I now suggest.

Ye know what quality insures A man's success, his rise secures.

FROSCH (_sings_)

Bear, lady nightingale above, Ten thousand greetings to my love.

SIEBEL

No greetings to a sweetheart! No love-songs shall there be!