persons and their dress, Actors unpaid their service bringing. What dreams
beguile you on your poet's height? What puts a full house in a merry mood?

More closely view your patrons of the night! The half are cold, the half are
rude. One, the play over, craves a game of cards; Another a wild night in

wanton joy would spend. Poor fools the muses' fair regards. Why court for
such a paltry end? I tell you, give them more, still more 'tis all I ask, Thus you

will ne'er stray widely from the goal; Your audience seek to mystify cajole; To
satisfy them - that's a harder task. What ails thee? art enraptured or

distressed?
Poet

Depart! elsewhere another servant choose What! shall the bard his godlike
power abuse? Man's loftiest right, kind nature's high bequest, For your mean

purpose basely sport away? Whence comes his mastery o'er the human
breast, Whence o'er the elements his sway, But from the harmony that,

gushing from his soul, Draws back into his heart the wondrous whole? With
careless hand when round her spindle, Nature Winds the interminable thread

of life; When 'mid the clash of Being every creature Mingles in harsh
inextricable strife; Who deals their course unvaried till it falleth, In rhythmic

flow to music's measur'd tone? Each solitary note whose genius calleth, To
swell the mighty choir in unison? Who in the raging storm sees passion

low'ring? Or flush of earnest thought in evening's glow? Who every blossom in
sweet spring - time flowering Along the loved one's path would strow? Who,

Nature's green familiar leaves entwining, Wreathe's glory's garland, won on
every field? Makes sure Olympus, heavenly powers combining? Man's mighty

spirit, in the bard reveal'd!
Merryman

Come then, employ your lofty inspiration, And carry on the poet's avocation,
Just as we carry on a love affair. Two meet by chance, are pleased, they

linger there, Insensibly are link'd, they scarce know how; Fortune seems now
propitious, adverse now, Then come alternaterapture and despair; And 'tis a

true romance ere one's aware. Just such a drama let us now compose. Plunge
boldly into life - its depths disclose! Each lives it, not to many is it known,

'Twill interest wheresoever seiz'd and shown; Bright pictures, but obscure
their meaning: A ray of truth through error gleaming, Thus you the best elixir

brew, To charm mankind, and edify them too. Then youth's fair blossoms
crowd to view your play, And wait as on an oracle; while they, The tender

souls, who love the melting mood, Suck from your work their melancholy
food; Now this one, and now that, you deeply stir, Each sees the working of

his heart laid bare. Their tears, their laughter, you command with ease, The
lofty still they honour, the illusive love. Your finish'd gentlemen you ne'er can

please; A growing mind alone will grateful prove.
Poet

Then give me back youth's golden prime, When my own spirit too was
growing, When from my heart th' unbidden rhyme Gush'd forth, a fount for

ever flowing; Then shadowy mist the world conceal'd, And every bud sweet
promise made, Of wonders yet to be reveal'd, As through the vales, with

blooms inlaid, Culling a thousand flowers I stray'd. Naught had I, yet a rich
profusion! The thirst for truth, joy in each fond illusion. Give me unquell'd

those impulses to prove; Rapture so deep, its ecstasy was pain, The power of
hate, the energy of love, Give me, oh give me back my youth again!

Merryman
Youth, my good friend, you certainly require When foes in battle round are

pressing, When a fair maid, her heart on fire, Hangs on your neck with fond
caressing, When from afar, the victor's crown, To reach the hard - won goal

inciteth; When from the whirling dance, to drown Your sense, the night's
carouse inviteth. But the familiar chords among Boldly to sweep, with graceful

cunning, While to its goal, the verse along Its winding path is sweetly running;
This task is yours, old gentlemen, to - day; Nor are you therefore less in

reverence held; Age does not make us childish, as folk say, It finds us genuine
children e'en in eld.

Manager
A truce to words, mere empty sound, Let deeds at length appear, my friends!

While idle compliments you round, You might achieve some useful ends. Why
talk of the poetic vein? Who hesitates will never know it; If bards ye are, as

ye maintain, Now let your inspiration show it. To you is known what we
require, Strong drink to sip is our desire; Come, brew me such without delay!

To - morrow sees undone, what happens not to - day; Still forward press,
nor ever tire! The possible, with steadfast trust, Resolve should be the

forelock grasp; Then she will ne'er let go her clasp, And labours on, because
she must.

On German boards, you're well aware, The taste of each may have full sway;
Therefore in bringing out your play, Nor scenes nor mechanism spare!

Heaven's lamps employ, the greatest and the least, Be lavish of the stellar
lights, Water, and fire, and rocky heights, Spare not at all, nor birds, nor

beast, Thus let creation's ample sphere Forthwith in this our narrow booth
appear, And with considerate speed, through fancy's spell, Journey from

heaven, thence through the world, to hell!
Prologue In Heaven

The Lord, The Heavenly Hosts. Afterwards Mephistopheles.
The three Archangels come forward

Raphael
The Sun, in ancient guise, competing With brother spheres in rival song, With

thunder - march, his orb completing, Moves his predestin'd course along; His
aspect to the powers supernal Gives strength, though fathom him none may;

Transcending thought, the works eternal Are fair as on the primal day.
Gabriel

With speed, thought baffling, unabating, Earth's splendour whirls in circling
flight; Its Eden - brightness alternating With solemn, awe - inspiring night;

Ocean's broad waves in wild commotion, Against the rocks' deep base are
hurled; And with the spheres, both rock and ocean Eternally are swiftly

whirled.
Michael

And tempests roar in emulation From sea to land, from land to sea, And
raging form, without cessation, A chain of wondrousagency, Full in the

thunder's path careering, Flaring the swift destructions play; But, Lord, Thy
servants are revering The mild procession of thy day.

The Three
Thine aspect to the powers supernal Gives strength, though fathom thee none

may; And all they works, sublime, eternal, Are fair as on the primal day.
Mephistopheles

Since thou, O Lord, approachest us once more, And how it fares with us, to
ask art fain, Since thou hast kindly welcom'd me of yore, Thou see'st me also

now among thy train. Excuse me, fine harangues I cannot make, Though all
the circle look on me with scorn; My pathos soon thy laughter would awake,

Hadst thou the laughing mood not long forsworn. Of suns and worlds I
nothing have to say, I see alone mankind's self - torturing pains. The little

world - god still the self - same stamp retains, And is as wondrous now as on
the primal day. Better he might have fared, poor wight, Hadst thou not given

him a gleam of heavenly light; Reason, he names it, and doth so Use it, than
brutes more brutish still to grow. With deference to your grace, he seems to

me Like any long - legged grasshopper to be, Which ever flies, and flying
springs, And in the grass its ancient ditty sings. Would he but always in the

grass repose! In every heap of dung he thrusts his nose.
The Lord

Hast thou naught else to say/ Is blame In coming here, as ever, thy sole aim?
Does nothing on the earth to thee seem right?

Mephistopheles
No, Lord! I find things there, as ever, in sad plight. Men, in their evil days,

move my compassion; Such sorry things to plague is nothing worth.
The Lord

Know'st thou my servant, Faust?
Mephistopheles

The doctor?
The Lord

Right.
Mephistopheles

He serves thee truly in a wondrous fashion. Poor fool! His food and drink are
not of earth. An inwardimpulse hurries him afar, Himself half conscious of his

frenzied mood; From heaven claimeth he the fairest star, And from the earth
craves every highest good, And all that's near, and all that's far, Fails to allay

the tumult in his blood.
The Lord

Though in perplexity he serves me now, I soon will lead him where more light
appears; When buds the sapling, doth the gardener know That flowers and

fruit will deck the coming years.
Mephistopheles