University of Virginia Library

THE STREET.
Faustus
(to Margaret passing on).
Fair lady, may I offer you my arm;
And will you suffer me to see you home?

Margaret.
I am no lady—and I am not fair.
I want no guide to show me the way home.

[Disengages herself, and exit.
Faustus.
By Heaven, she is a lovely child;
A fairer never met my eye,
Modest she seems, and good and mild,
Though something pert was her reply—
The red lips bright—the cheek's soft light—
My youth hath not departed quite!
She passed, her timid eyes declining,
Deep in my heart they still are shining—
And her light spirits' lively play
Hath stolen me from myself away!

Mephistopheles enters.
Faustus.
Hearken here, sir, get me the girl; and fast.

Mephistopheles.
The girl!—what girl?—

Faustus.
She that this moment passed.

Mephistopheles.
What—she? she was but now at church
At her confession—I was there.
And, hid by the confession chair,
Was listening to her from my lurch.
Poor thing—she is all innocence—
Had nothing in the world to tell!
With such to meddle is not well.
Her purity is a defence,
That leaves the tempter no pretence.
Upon this child I have no power.

Faustus.
She's past fourteen, if she's an hour!

Mephistopheles.
Could Liederlich be worse than this?
The profligate, whose folly is,
To think each flower of beauty his.
Calls it a purchasable trifle,
And every charm he sees would rifle;
Thinks truth and honour but a name—
My friend, give up this hopeless game.

Faustus.
Sound doctrine this, most reverend,
I hope your sermon's at an end:
Now, once for all, conceited fellow,
I am determined on't, and tell you,
She must, this very night, be mine:
You and I part, if you decline.

Mephistopheles.
Compose yourself—be reasonable—
If in a fortnight I be able
To make out opportunities!

Faustus.
A fortnight! give me but seven hours!
I want no devil to help me then,
And ask no aid from any powers
But those belonging to all men,
To fool a child like this with ease,
And make her any thing I please.

Mephistopheles.
How like a Frenchman! I regret
To see you discontented yet:
Why thus impatient? the delight
Is, after all, less exquisite,
Than when with some delay and doubt,
And difficulty fenced about,
You win the treasure guarded long;
Play with the pretty thing awhile,
And toy and trifle and beguile,
And to your will the soft wax mould,—
As witness many a story told,
Of true love in Italian song.

Faustus.
But, fortunately, I require
No such incentives to desire.

Mephistopheles.
Now, not to take or give offence,
Believe me, here all violence
Is useless—in a little while
The damsel may be won by guile;—
A stratagem, perhaps, may gain
The fortress—storming it were vain!

Faustus.
Give me, meanwhile, some little thing
Of hers—a garter or a ring—
A kerchief from her snowy breast—
Show me the chamber of her rest!

Mephistopheles.
To prove how sensibly I feel
Your pangs, and, if I could, to heal;
I gratify, without delay,
Your wish, and take you there to-day.

Faustus.
And shall I see her? have her?

Mephistopheles.
No!
She to a neighbour's has to go,
And when I find that she is gone,
You may indulge yourself alone;
Breathe in the very room where she
Hath slept, and dream of joys to be.

Faustus.
May we go now?

Mephistopheles.
It scarce were pleasant
So early.

Faustus.
Make me out some present.

Mephistopheles.
Presents so soon! this promises
Speedy success—they all love dress!
Oh, I know many a place of pleasure,
Where such things are, and many a treasure
Buried of old, and soon will find
Some lure to win the young thing's mind.