Sunday, May 27, 2012
Thirty Winters off My Back
Mephistopheles: Very well; it comes your way
Without physician, gold, or magic-rigging:
Go out into the fields, today,
Fall to a-hoeing, digging,
Contain yourself, your mind and mood,
Within the narrowest of spheres,
Subsist on uncommonly food,
Live as a beast with beasts and spurn not chores unsung,
In person spread your crop-fields with manure;
This is the best resource, you may be sure,
Through eighty years to stay forever young!
Faust: I am not used to that, it goes against my marrow
To put my hand to hoe or harrow.
A narrow life would suit me not at all.
Mephistopheles: So back to witching after all.