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Mephistopheles made a wager with God that he could drag Faust into
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Mephistopheles: Ah, you don’t like it from me!
You’ve the right, to say ‘fie’ to me, politely.
Before chaste ears men daren’t speak aloud,
That which chaste hearts can’t do without:
Short and sweet, I begrudge the pleasure you get
From occasionally lying to yourself, about it.
But you won’t hold out for long, I’m sure.
You’re already over-driven,
Sooner or later you’ll be given
To madness, or to fear and horror.
Enough! Your lover sits inside,
All is dull, oppressive to her,
She can’t get you out of her mind,
Her deep love overwhelms her.
First your love’s flood round her flowed,
As a stream pours from melted snow:
You’ve so filled her heart, and now,
Your stream again is shallow.
Instead of enthroning yourself in the wood,
Let the great gentleman do some good,
To that poor little ape of flesh and blood,
And reward her, I think, for her love.
Her days seem pitifully long:
She sits at the window, cloud drifting
Over the old City wall, sees it lifting.
‘Would I were a little bird!’ runs her song,
All day long, and all night long.
Sometimes lively, mostly not,
Sometimes crying out, in tears,
Then quiet again, it appears,
And always in love.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust, Part One. Trans. A. S. Kline. https://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/German/FaustIScenesVIItoXV.php#Scene_XIV
A full-text translation of Faust, with notes: https://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/German/Fausthome.php
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