University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

The Drachenfels.
[The sun is setting. Hunters on the rocks—Fishermen on the river—Peasants in the valley—all returning home. Faustus seated on a rock, with a large volume in his hand. At the end of the Chorus, the sun has set.
Faus.
At length I've found the charm, sought for long years
With fruitless toil,—yet now it came i' the instant,—
Like the swift lightning—here too, in the book
Whence man drinks life eternal. Is't not strange?
Yet no; not strange; 'tis from its wholesome food
The serpent draws its poison. I've the charm
Which, but to think of, calls the devil from hell,
And, utter'd, shivers earth itself to atoms.
I may have riches, more than wit can number;
I may have power, more than kings can compass;
I may have beauty, more than ever sate
At Jove's own board and crown'd immortal pleasures;
I may have this, and more than this,—aye, more
Than sober sense e'er dreamt of—and I will.

Voice
(below).
Wilt thou, indeed? Hast thou the courage, Faustus?

Faus.
Who ask'd that question? Have I, then, two souls
In mutual strife? Or is't some spirit without
That whispers me? I know not, and I care not.
Spirit of darkness, I invoke thee not
With blood or fire; I entreat thee not
With sacrifice; I call thee as thy master—
By that word which may be thought, not utter'd;
That word, which, stronger than the winds or thunder,
Hurl'd thee from heaven, which, but to think of,
Turns my best blood to ice—by that! by that
I do command thee, fiend,—appear! appear!

Chorus
from below the earth.
We hear! we hear! we hear!

Faus.
The spell, then, is all potent to its end;
It was no vain imagining. Again
I speak it in my heart, though not in word;
I do command thee, fiend—appear! appear!

Chorus
from below the earth.
He comes! he comes! he comes!

Faus.
Then let him come, the sooner still the better.
I'm wild with hope, with terror, with—I know not—
But come, appear I say; appear! appear!
[Wild music. The Demon appears in clouds and fire.
Ah! thou art terrible, and I am nothing—
Yet no; can I do this, I can do more.
Put off that form! I charge thee by the spell
That brought thee hither. Take on thee a shape,
Which I may look upon, and not as now
Stand shudd'ring at thy nearness. By that spell!
[Music. The Demon disappears.
What! Does he mock me? Ruin, then, take all!
I'll speak it, though to speak it is to perish.

[Wilder Music. Faustus raises his hand to heaven, and seems about to speak, when Mephistophiles suddenly appears at his side, and pulling down his arm, takes the book from him.
Meph.
Pray fling aside that book.

[Flinging it into the water.
Faus.
And who art thou?

Meph.
E'en he you call'd for, and so lustily.

Faus.
(Half aside.)
This is not he I fashion'd in my thoughts.

Meph.
That's like enough: I wear as many shapes
As men have fancies. Faith! there was a time
I wore a tail and horns; but that's long past.
Your maidens give me wings, and clepe me Cupid;
Your misers paint me blind, and call me Plutus;
Your soldiers, with a big mouth, call me Honor;
Your poets call me Fame; your gluttons any thing
That may be eaten; and your gamesters, they
Call me so many names I scarce can count them;
But maiden, miser, poet, glutton, gamester,
Are all the time but following the devil.

Faus.
Is't real, then? Is he so close beside me?
The fiend himself?

Meph.
Nothing so strange in that:
The devil's at most men's elbows, though, indeed,
He wisely keeps incog, that they may still
Go on the good old way—except, indeed,
To some choice spirits like yourself, who will
Insist upon his presence.

Faus.
If 'tis true,—
And yet I doubt—and yet it is too palpable.
I will be satisfied. By that dread spell—

Meph.
Pray you spare that; it needs not 'twixt such friends;
I'll give you all you've wit enough to ask.

Faus.
Without condition?

Meph.
What, you've not outgrown
The nurs'ry yet? You think the devil must needs
Have wax and parchment surety? Tut, he wants
No bond from men or women but their actions.

Faus.
Thou art my slave!

Meph.
Aye, for the present.

Faus.
Dream I?—
And if I dream not, bear me hence!

Meph.
But whither?

Faus.
To any place; for any change convinces.
Yet stay; there was a maid—

Meph.
And now no maid,
Nor wife, nor widow.

Faus.
Dost scoff me, fiend,
If that, indeed, thou be'st the fiend?

Meph.
Not I.

Faus.
Bear me to Venice—to Adine.

Meph.
Bravo!
'Tis the high flood of carnival. I'faith!
We shall have sport, brave sport; your hand; hold fast.
Pass earth; pass sky;
Time stand; space fly;
Till before us Venice lie.

Music. The Scene suddenly changes to

SCENE II.

[The preceding Scene is suddenly involved in wreck, and as the last cloud vanishes, Faustus and Mephistophiles are discovered in the place of St. Marc, in Venice, Faustus still holding by the demon, but sunk into a state of stupefaction. The scene is decorated with all the preparatory splendour and gaiety of the approaching carnival. Day is dawning; and as the strain of wild and fearful music (to which the change has taken place), ceases, the Demon speaks.
Meph.
Rouse thee, Faustus; thou'rt in Venice; look up!
Thy command, scarce uttered, is obey'd.
Own, now, the devil's a man of his word.

Faus.
'Tis real; I do not dream.
The powers, who control our mortal earth,
I do command. Where is Adine?

Meph.
Pshaw! Pshaw! the old song still.
Why, Venice has a thousand beauties; aye,
And ready, too, as fair; which, as I take it,
Is not a little virtue in the dear ones;
It saves hypocrisy. Why should Adine,
Then, be remembered?

Faus.
I would tell thee, fiend
Hadst thou a soul behind that iron mask
To comprehend my meaning; ah, she fell
Confiding in my love, as the young flowrets
Unfold their blossoms to the summer sun,
And wither in its fierceness. Poor Adine!

Meph.
Oh, that sounds well; and, long as words sound well,
There's not a creature would be ass enough
To ask their meaning, save, indeed, an ass.

Faus.
Wilt bring me to the maid?

Meph.
She'll soon be here,
And spare my bringing, with a troop of friends
As simple as herself; a young maid, too,
One Rosolia. Had I but a grain
Of this same poetry, you'd hear such wonders;
Oh, I should blossom out in simile
And trope and metaphor, all flower and moonshine.
The truth is, I'm too honest for a poet,
I cannot lie enough; yet not to boast,
I am a good hand that way, too.

Faus.
They come!
Make us to mortal sight invisible.

Meph.
Yon wall will do the feat without my magic.
Come, step aside, I'll answer for the wall.

[Exeunt.
Enter Count de Casanova, Rosolio, Adine, and Orsini.
Casa.

Come along, girls; this way; here's the very
centre of the mirth; here crowd all the choice masquers.
By the feathered heels of Mercury, but their gambols
make my old blood tingle again. Hey, Rosolia?

Ros.

Faith, father, I could wish my gentle cousin,
Adine, here, were merrier.

Casa.

Pooh, pooh! some sentimental nonsense.
What, has the handsome young doctor of Wittenberg
made an incurable puncture in your little heart?

Adine.

You are merry, sir: I—

Casa.

Merry—to be sure I am. I never was otherwise.
I was merry in my cradle—merry when I was a
bachelor—merry when I married, and merry now I'm

a widower. I've nothing left to plague me but a saucy
daughter, who does nothing but laugh at me, and talk
me to death.

Ros.

Nay, sir, you're my match, or any body's else
at talking.

Casa.

Well, and why shouldn't I talk? I've nothing
to think of.

Ros.

A good reason, certainly; but I wish you'd
cast poor Signor Orsini's nativity, father, and see if
there be any hope for him with Adine, for a more rueful
picture of sighing constancy was never seen.

Casa.
(to Orsini)

Tut, tut, man; never mind the
Wittenberg doctor—doctor—what's his name, Adine?

Ors.

I see too plainly, Count, I have nothing to
hope or fear.

Casa.

To her—to her, man. If Apollo be lord of
the ascendant to-day in the house of Venus, Fortune
may shew Mars in ascendancy to-morrow; therefore, to
her, soldier! hey, Rosolia, am I not right?

Ros.

Indeed, sir, I think you might set example yet
to younger lovers.

Casa.

I think so—I think so—if the pretty Lucetta,
the innkeeper's daughter, but listen to me kindly. (aside.

Ors.
Your pardon, dearest lady, but if e'er
My suit could hope to thrive, it must be now
When all around is gaiety—I've been
Too oft denied; but 'twas in sadder hours.

Adine.
Alas! I have no hours that are not sad.

Ors.
But not now, lady, but not now—and I
May tell my love, and hope a kinder answer.
Is it not so?

Adine.
I pray you, sir, forbear:
I have no heart for love, for any thing
But for— (aside)
be still—be still—Oh Faustus! Faustus!

QUARTETTE.
Casanova, Adine, Rosolia, and Orsini.
Adine.
Go, seek some virgin heart,
Which sorrow never knew,
Such may the love impart
Which to thy worth is due.
Sorrows I dare not name
My heart unseen consume,
Like the undying flame
That lights a tomb.

Ors.
Must, then, my heart its hopes forego,
And no return my passion know?

Casa.
Prithee let her alone:
When sought as a favour,
From Venus, I own,
Not a kiss would have savour.
Sighs and tears I regard as a joke;
The heart, that I prize,
Must leap thro' the eyes,
Ere a word by the lips can be spoke.

Ors.
Ah! do all my hopes deceive me!

Ros.
(To Orsini.)
Poor heart retire!
[illeg.]
With hopes she'll e'er receive thee.

Adine.
Go, seek some virgin heart
May love for love impart;
In pity hence, thy suit give o'er,
And mention love to me no more.

All.
In pity hence, thy suit give o'er,
And/I'll mention love to me/her no more.

[Exit Orsini.
[The rest retire.
[The music gradually encreases to a lively measure, to which the various characters of the carnival enter, until the stage is filled, and a kind of ballet representation of the shows and gaieties of the festival takes place.
Enter Faustus and Mephistophiles, behind.
Faus.
Who is yon lady with Adine?

Meph.
Rosolia, her cousin—a sprightly maiden.

Faus.
And beautiful.—Her eye darts fires might warm
The icy bosom of a fasting anchorite,
And teach him passion.—Is that her father?

Meph.
It is!—

Faus.
Beautiful Rosolia!—

Meph.
The beautiful Adine is weeping on her breast.

Faus.
Mock on—mock on—mock what thou hast not heart
Nor brain to comprehend, with all thy power.

Meph.
The heart and brain—two fine companions those!
'Tis hard to say which plays the fool most wisely.

Faus.
She is indeed most beautiful—that smile
So soft and winning, and those eyes all fire!
But no—another time for her;—and now
I'd be with my Adine—alone. Obey me.

Meph.
Obey thee? to be sure—Why not obey thee?
In serving such a friend I serve myself.
[Goes to Adine.
He's here—I mean the doctor, he who met
A certain lady in a certain grove
By moonlight—

Adine.
(rushing forward)
What voice was that?

[Music. At this instant another figure, resembling Adine, assumes her place, and is led off by Casanova and Rosolia. Mephistophiles, receding, points to her, and exit.
[The Scene suddenly changes at the same moment to a lonely place. Adine stands motionless.
Faus.
(approaching gently)
Adine! my Adine!

[Adine turns fearfully, and, recognizing him, shrieks, and rushes into his arms.
Adine.
Faustus! Oh, why hast thou deserted me?

Faus.
I have not deserted thee—

Adine.
And art thou come to make me thine for ever?
I have not known one happy hour since
I quitted you—and then your long long silence:
My heart was almost broken.

Faus.
I'll heal it, dearest.
I'm here to recompence thy gentle faith
With boundless power.

Adine.
Boundless power!—What mean you?

Faus.
Look round—Behold a proof—

Adine.
(looking round)
Gracious heaven, where am I?
What place is this?—
How came I here—Oh Faustus! dear Faustus!

Faus.
Thou art in safety from surprise and danger—
With thy Faustus and alone!—What is't you fear?—

Adine.
Men report strange things of thee.

Faus.
And grant them true—will Adine cease to love?

Adine.
Oh! no, no—but if this be true—
If thou art leagued with powers I dare not name,
Tho' I must still dearly dearly love thee,
And tho' to part with thee were certain death,
Yet part with thee I would—

Faus.
And would'st thou, girl, because by ceaseless toil,
In deep and midnight studies, I have won
Dominion o'er the powers of darkness—
Would't thou, for this, abandon me;
Me, me to whom thou'st sworn eternal love?

Adine.
E'en so!—and die! still loving thee.

Faus.
(calmly)
Then we must part—for this is so, Adine!

AIR.—Adine.

Faus.
Hear me—
I cannot, if I would, resign the knowledge
I have obtained. There is no Lethe
To cleanse and purify a mind
Once so endow'd as mine.

Adine.
Oh! say not so, dear Faustus!

Faus.
If wealth or love of sway can tempt thee,
Pronounce the word, and at thy regal foot
The thousand thrones of gorgeous Ind shall pour
Their treasures down, and own their vassalage.

Adine.
I want no treasures but thy love—no throne
But thy heart—Oh let me win it back to heaven.

Faus.
Give me thy hand, Adine—ere Time can wave
His silent pinions o'er a moment's space
We'll fly to regions of perpetual summer.
Lo! e'en now I'll call the spirit!

[A strain of low music.
Adine.
No! no—let go my hand. There is no consent
In my most hidden heart to such dread evil;
And over me the fiend shall not prevail.

[Mephistophiles suddenly starts up behind Adine—she shudders.
Adine.
What suffocating fearful heat is this
Comes creeping o'er my brain, like the fell blast
Which haunts the desert?—

Faus.
Now, slave! spread thy broad pennons for our flight!

Adine.
No!—here I cry for aid by this dread spell
That withers up the tempter's power to nothing,
Oh! free me from his presence! help, heaven!

[She lifts up the cross of her rosary, and Mephistophiles, shuddering, suddenly vanishes.— Faustus trembles, hides his face, and recedes from the stage.—Adine utters a slight convulsive shriek, as if conscious of relief from their presence, and falls senseless.

SCENE III.

Exterior of an Inn.
Montolio, Antonio, and Wagner, enter from the Inn.
Wag.
Here we may breathe; sub dio;—but more wine,
Mi domine—your hot-house is not hotter
Than that same camera, I think you call it.
Wheugh! had I been a melon, I had blossom'd,
And fructified, and ripen'd, in an hour.

Mont.
Well, but your tale; you spoke just now of Faustus.

Wag.
You're wrong; I was about to speak; dicturus.

Mont.
Psha! 'tis all one, man.

Wag.
Minimè; the things
Are most diverse; I'll prove it logicè.

Mon.
We'll grant it without proof:

Wag.
You're wrong again.

[Enrico sings without.
Mon.
Why, sure it is Enrico!

Ant.
You are right,
If I may trust my eyes.

Wag.
No, sir, you may not;
Eyes are fallacious; seeing is no proof.
But who's Enrico? quæso, now, I pray you.

Mon.
A gallant soldier, and my worthy friend.
He comes fresh from the wars, where he has earned
An honourable name. (Enrico enters)
Right welcome home.

Ant.
Welcome again to Venice.

Mon.
Doubly welcome.

En.
I thank you, gentlemen.

Mon.
A friend of ours;
A student from—how do you call the place?
Your German names defy Venetian lips.

Wag.
From Wittenberg, where, as the poet sings,—

Mon.
Well, never mind the poet. (To Enrico)
Come, you'll join us?

En.
I've not yet seen my sister.

Mon.
Nay, a glass;
Old friends must not so lightly part, Enrico.

En.
Sirs, you shall rule me. Right good wine, i' faith.

Mon.
And now of Faustus.

Wag.
Aye, he is a man!
My master, too;—but understand me, sirs,
I' the way of learning; I was his famulus;
'Till I bethought me it was fit a scholar
Should see the world.

Mon.
But if report speak truth,
Your Faustus has had dealings with the devil.

Wag.
He scorns the devil, has learning in his head
Enough for twenty colleges; and yet
He has his humours. He can draw a sword,
And love a pretty wench, too, I can tell you.

En.
Good learning in a doctor!

Wag.
I remember,
There was a short time since at Wittenberg
A Venice maid, a handsome girl enough,
Adine di Campo Fiore.

En.
What of her?

Wag.
She and the doctor—eh! you understand!

En.
You do not mean to say—

Wag.
I mean to say,
The lady, as your Frenchman sweetly phrases it,
Made a slight faux-pas with the doctor.

En.
(striking him)
Liar!
Draw, villain!

Wag.
Draw! you've almost drawn my teeth.
What should I draw? I've nothing, sir, to draw.

Mon.
Come, come; here's some mistake.

En.
My sister!

Wag.
Eh!
His sister! Incidi in Scyllam! Hold him.
Cohibe iram!—that is, be pacified.
Let us proceed to argumentum.

En.
Off!
He is no friend to me that holds me back,

Wag.
Yes, but he is to me. Pray, hold him fast;
And let us argue this affair scholasticè.
It was not I faux-pas'd it with your sister.

En.
Shall I hear this?

Wag.
Upon my life it was not.
If you must fight, the doctor is your man;
And, as I heard a half-hour since, he's here.

En.
Is this true, sirs?

Mon.
Indeed, I've heard as much.

En.
Then let me go; I will not harm the fool;
He is not worth my anger; but for Faustus,
Or he or I.
[Exit Enrico.

Wag.
Vade in pacem!

Mon.
Sir!
You must not be so free of speech, unless
Your hand is prompter to your sword.

Wag.
Quite wrong;
Fighting's his trade, as argument is mine.
Oh, an I had him now at Wittenberg,
You'd see how I would handle him; mehercule!
I'll run him clean through with a syllogism;
Pound him to dust with Aristotle's elenches;
Or snare him with the argument Socraticum.

Mon.
Go to; you are a coward.

Wag.
Probes; prove it.

Ant.
Away; he is not for our company.

[Exeunt Montolio and Antonio.
Wag.
What, gone without probation! Brutes, per Jovem;
I'll in and syllogize the landlord's daughter;
She is a fair one, and eke loves a scholar.
SONG.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

A Room in the Inn.
Lucetta, the Innkeeper's Daughter enters.
Luc.

What does Master Wagner mean by leaving
me so long alone! He knows my father has gone out
for the day, and here have I been waiting and wishing

and watching in my own room; really, if it be his
books that keep him from me, I wish he'd be a little
more of the lover, and less of the scholar; and yet he
does talk so learnedly—though I don't understand
what he says, very often—dear young man! but he
has taught me a great deal already, and has promised,
after we are married, to teach me a great deal more.
(Tap at the window.)
—There he is.

Count de Casanova speaks without.
Casa.

Hist! hist! Lucetta—my pretty Lucetta!
'tis I.

Luc.

'Tis that disagreeable old count. An old
rogue, with his ape's face and shambling legs—chattering
and lying, faster than any barber, about his stars
and planets.

Casa.
(Looking in at window)

Lucetta, my pretty
twinkler, let me in. (She opens the door, and the Count enters.)

Here I am, flown on the wings of
Cupid; the urchin has lent me his bow and arrow, to
shoot my little Lucetta through the heart.

Luc.

Cupid with bow and arrow! more like Time
with scythe and hour-glass.

Casa.

You are a rogue; Time has nothing to do
with me. All the Casanovas died young at a century,
and I'm not much past the half-way yet—a very youth.
So my little Venus must not prove retrograde.

Luc.

No more retrograde than yourself. What do
you mean, sir!

Casa.

Retrograde, my little luminary, is adverse—
backward.

Luc.

Then 'tis a shame to abuse me so, for Mr.
Wagner says I'm a very forward little girl.

Casa.

Oh! and who is Mr. Wagner?

Luc.

A very handsome merry young student from
Germany.

Casa.

Oh, ho!—a hostile ascendant in the house of
Venus. I must take a new observation. Here—here's
a golden language, that every one can understand;

translate it, (gives it into her hand)
and take pity
upon me.

Luc.

Really, now, I don't think you look quite so
old or ugly as you did.

Casa.

Gold clears the sight amazingly. Here's
another— (holds out another purse)
—a twin brother
of the former: perhaps now you'll see clearer still.

Luc.

I declare now you are quite beautiful—a very
Adonis.

Casa.

Adonis—pooh! a tame pigeon—not worth
his peas; he turned tail to his Venus, while I face
mine. Oh, Lucetta! look in my face, and read my
passion.

Luc.

I can't, tis written in such a queer language.
I wish Wagner was here.

Casa.

Curse Wagner! I love you. (Kneels.)
Be
kind, and raise my hopes.

[Wagner sings without.
Luc.

There's some one coming; quick—quick—
get up.

Casa.
(Gets on one knee, and strives to rise from the other.)

Fast, by Jupiter! Confound this lumbago!
One knee came up kindly enough; but the
other sticks as fast to the floor as steel to the loadstone.

TRIO.
Casa.
Now prithee your laughing give o'er;
If I'm caught, zounds, my character's gone.

Luc.
There's some one is close at the door;
Quick, quick, prithee rise, sir, and run.

[During this, Lucetta goes to the door—Wagner enters—she points to Casanova, and seems to explain, shewing purse, &c. They advance, Wagner unseen by Casanova.
Luc.
(On one side Casanova.)
Come, I'll pity my lover,
And give him some ease;

Casa.
Ay, do, help me up that I may go.

Wag.
(On the other side of him.)
When elderly gentlemen go on their knees,
They should mind they have not the lumbago.

Luc., Wag.
When elderly gentlemen go on their knees,
They should mind they have not the lumbago.

Casa.
Stand out of the way,
No longer I'll stay;
Of my gold I am cheated;
My hopes are defeated;
You hussey, you rogue,
How dare you collogue?
My revenge you shall both of you feel.

Luc.
Your hopes, sir, I spurn;
Your gold I return;
I'm not to be sold
For jewels or gold.

Wag.
To the wither'd and old
So prithee away;
And all I've to say
Is, the next time you need
Your passion to plead,
Remember, old boy, not to kneel.

Casa.
(With the others.)
Curse the gold!—away, away;
Here I/he will no longer stay;
Laugh'd at—cheated—
Mock'd—defeated—
Rage, confusion, shame I/you feel.

[Omnes repeat this last stanza, as Casanova exits in a rage.
Luc.

Thank the stars, the old ass is gone.

Wag.

And has left his aurum—his gold.

Luc.

An impertinent old fool! It shall be returned
to him.

Wag.

By no means; keep it as thy dowry, my
formosa puella, when we nuptiallize.

Luc.

When we—what, Mr. Wagner?

Wag.

Marry; wilt thou have me for better or worse?

Luc.

I scarcely know; I have seen too little of you
yet to decide;—what are you truly?

Wag.

What am I truly—homo.

Luc.

Homo! and what's that?

Wag.

A noun substantive, and means a man; can
you decline me?

Luc.

Are you rich?

Wag.

Paululum pecuniæ—not very; but doctus
—learned.

Luc.

We can't live upon learning, though I confess
I do love it.

Wag.

And love and learning together can do wonders:
therefore, let us strike hands, and every thing I
know I will teach thee.

Luc.

Well, propose it to my father.

Wag.

Mox—presently; where is he?

Luc.

In his own parlour.

Wag.

Who's with him?

Luc.

Only Signor Tuccarello, a would-be lover of
mine, whom I hate; he's such a fierce-looking, ugly
fellow.

Wag.

Not like me, eh?

Luc.

Not a bit; he looks as if he'd eat anybody up
that dares but look at me; but don't you mind him;
my father does not like him at all.

Wag.

But he does me, I know; and so here goes.
If my foreign scholarship should fail with him, you
shall plead with me; you have the true eloquence of
persuasion, you little gipsy—the language of the eyes,
that's understood all over the world; and a pretty girl,
with a pair of speaking sparklers in her head, is a perfect
polyglote.

[Exit.
Luc.

Well, he's a nice young man; he won my
heart when he came under my window by day-break
and said—

SONG.

[Exit.

SCENE V.

Exterior of the Count di Casanova's Mansion.
Enter Faustus, Mephistophiles, and Two Serenaders.
Meph.
This is your turtle's nest.

Faus.
My sweet Rosolia!

Meph.
Sweet Adine!

Faus.
How dar'st thou name that name?

Meph.
I do but sing a good old song of yours.

Faus.
Speak it again, we separate that instant.

Meph.
That were a pity. But now for the lady.

Faus.
I'll have her love, and you must find the means.

Meph.
Nothing more easy; our friends here shall chaunt
An am'rous stave or two; she opes the casement;
You send a score of lies up to her beauty.
Compare her to the sun, the moon, the stars;
Sigh, laugh, kneel, rage, protest, deny,
Swear you will shoot, or drown, or hang yourself—
You need not do it though, 'twould spoil the farce—
And so the thing is done.

Faus.
Why, thou dull fiend,
Can all thy subtlety advise no better?

Meph.
What would you have?

Faus.
Rosolia!

Meph.
And shall,
Give me but time enough.

Faus.
With time myself
Would win her, and not need the devil's help.
But no; fill her young heart with instant love;
Let me be as Apollo in her eyes,
My voice as musical—my form as fair;
Make me the only image of her thoughts,
The everlasting shadow of her dreams;
My presence be her joy, her light, her life;
And in my absence let her love and weep,
As flowers weep, and droop their golden heads,
When the bright sun has left them.

Meph.
Here's a strain!
For his sake, friend, who shall be nameless, pray you,
No more of it. Come, gentlemen, your tools,
Your hurdy-gurdies, quick; and dole me out
An invocation to the lady's beauty;
No matter for the sense; the rhyme—the rhyme
Shall bear you out.

SERENADE.

Enrico enters.
En.
Villains! have I found you?

Meph.
Why, are we villains, Faustus?

En.
Faustus? oh!
I thank thee, heaven. Now, then, draw or die!

Meph.
You'll find us ready; we can win the wife,
And after cut the cuckold-husband's throat.
What! we are perfect cavaliers!

Faus.
Stand by;
This quarrel's mine!

Enrico and Faustus fight. The Serenaders run off.
Meph.
A noble thrust in carte!
Parry—Seconde! an excellent reverse—
Riposte! a shrewd lunge, faith! Sa, sa, sa, sa!
Carte over arm—now tierce—and now, my boy,
Hai!—you have it! (Enrico falls)
Bravo, my noble Faustus!

Faus.
I ne'er shed blood till now.

Meph.
'Twas high time, then!
Your duel is as absolutely needed
To the condition of a perfect gentleman,
As paint and patches to a dame of fashion.

Rosolia appears in the balcony.
Ros.
Good heavens! Adine! Adine! There's some one murder'd.
Call up my father.

Mont.
(without)
This way, this way, friends.

Meph.
Holla! my Faustus! time for us to fly.

Faus.
I ne'er shed blood till now.

Meph.
A peccadillo.
Now you're a gentleman, you'll soon grow used
To trifles of this sort.

Faus.
Would I lay there
Instead of him.

Meph.
Why that might do as well;
But come, away, away. No time for morals.

[Mephistophiles drags off Faustus. Montolio, Antonio, and people rush in from all sides.
Mon.
How is it with you, man?

En.
The blow was hard

Adine, Rosolia, Count di Casanova, and Servants with lights enter.
Adine.
Who is he—who?

Mon.
The son of her who bore thee!

Adine.
My brother!

Ros.
Enrico!

En.
This is death!
Why do you stand there with your idle howling?
Come here, my sister, for you're still my sister.
Nay, nearer, nearer. I've no breath to spare.
Is't true? are you—that which I would not name?
What does she say? Stand from me, my good people.

Adine.
Oh, heavens!

En.
I understand—the tale is true!
Then welcome death! Montolio, my good friend,
Bid the young falsehood spare her treach'rous tears.
And, Rosolia—keep you from her side;
She'll make you like herself. I warn you, sweet,
As one, who, dying, loves you.

Ros.
Alas, he's dying!

Adine.
Oh, not dying!

En.
Hear the false whore. What should I do but die!
I have not shoulders strong enough to bear
A sister's infamy! Ah, Adine!

[Enrico faints away. The rest group round him.