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That dies, ere our desire for it be dead?

Show me the trees, that still retain the charm,
That once apparelled them, of vernal light,
As if each new day breathed on them new being!

MEPHISTOPHELES.

Fine things to fancy! -to be sure you shall
Have this or any thing you wish to ask for;
Something less spiritual were something better,
But by and by we'll find the Doctor's taste
Improving, we'll have our own pleasant places,
And our tit bits and our snug little parties,
And what will keep the Doctor's spirit quiet;
- I promise you, you'll feel what comfort is.

FAUSTUS.

Comfort and quiet!— no, no! none of these

For me

I ask them not

- I seek them not.

If ever I upon the bed of sloth

Lie down and rest, then be the hour, in which

I so lie down and rest, my last of life.

Canst thou by falsehood or by flattery
Delude me into self-complacent smiles,
Cheat me into tranquillity? come, then,
And welcome life's last day

be this our wager.

Done.

MEPHISTOPHELES.

FAUSTUS.

And done, say I- clench we at once the bargain.
If ever time should flow so calmly on,
Soothing my spirits into such oblivion,
That in the pleasant trance I would arrest,
And hail the happy moment in its course,
Bidding it linger with me" Oh, how fair
"Art thou, delicious moment!" 66
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Happy days,

"Fair visions! yet a little

"Why will
"Abide with me, and bless me

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Or words like these. then throw me into fetters

Then willingly do I consent to perish;

Then may the death-bell peal its heavy sounds;

Then is thy service at an end - and then

The clock may cease to strike the hand to

move

For me be time then passed away for ever!

MEPHISTOPHeles.

Consider well

for we will not forget.

FAUSTUS.

Remember, or forget it, as you please;

I have resolved -- and that not rashly: here,

While I remain, I needs must be a slave

What matter, therefore, whether thine, or whose?

MEPHISTOPHELES.

I will to-day, then, at the Doctor's table

Attend as servant, and discharge the duties.
Just one thing more -as life and death's uncertain,
I'd wish to have a line or two in writing.

FAUSTUS.

And dost thou ask a writing, too, poor pedant?

Know you not Man? Man's nature? or Man's word?

Is it not enough that I have spoken it?
My very life all that I have and am,

What is it but an echo of my word,
Pledge of the will that gives it utterance?
If words be nothing, what is writing more?
Is the world's course one sea of stormy madness,
Its thousand streams, in conflict everlasting,
Raving regardlessly? roll they not on?

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Held back, the slave and prisoner of a promise?

Yet in this fancy all believe alike:

If a delusion, all men are deluded

And is there one that would be undeceived?

Truth and the feeling of integrity

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Are of the heart's own essence should they call

For sufferings, none repents the sacrifice.

Oh, happy he, whom Truth accompanies

In all his walks

Pure of all soil

from outward cumbrance free

dwelling within the heart,

Light to his steps and guidance: oracle
To lead or to mislead, none doth he seek;
Consults no casuist, but an honest conscience;
Of sacrifices recks not, and repents not.
But a stamped parchment and a formal deed,
With seal and signature, all shrink from this
As something that offends and wounds our nature;
It robs, methinks, the words of all their life,
The letter, and that only binds us now;
Such virtue, and no other can it have,

As seal and stamp, as lead and wax can give-
But why? why argue for it or against it?
Is writing more than the unwritten word?
-What, evil one, what is it you require?

Brass ? marble? parchment? paper ? do you wish
Graver or chissel? or plain pen and ink ?
Have which you please any or all of them.

Mephistopheles.

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Why this excitement? why this waste of oratory? These frantic gestures? any scrap will do;

Just scratch your name, there, in a drop of blood.

FAUSTUS.

A silly farce but if it gratifies you

MEPHISTOPHEles.

Blood it must be

--

blood has peculiar virtues.

FAUSTUS.

Fear not that I will break this covenant:
The only impulse now that sways my powers,
My sole desire in life, is what I've promised!
I've been puffed up with fancies too aspiring,
My rank is not more high than thine; I am
Degraded and despised by the Great Spirit;
Nature is sealed from me; the web of thought
Is shattered; burst into a thousand threads;
I loathe, and sicken at the name of knowledge.
Now in the depths of sensuality

To still these burning passions; to be wrapped
In the impenetrable cloak of magic,

With things miraculous to feast the senses!
Let's fling ourselves into the stream of time,
Into the tumbling waves of accident,
Let pain and pleasure, loathing and enjoyment,
Mingle and alternate, as it may be ;
Restlessness is man's best activity.

MEPHISTOPHEles.

Nothing whatever is there to restrain you
If your desires be as you say, to taste

Of every sweet - sip all things settle nowhere-
Catching each moment while upon the wing

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