And whether in that future yonder
There's a Below and an Above.

_Mephistopheles._ In such a mood thou well mayst venture.
Bind thyself to me, and by this indenture
Thou shalt enjoy with relish keen
Fruits of my arts that man had never seen.

_Faust_. And what hast thou to give, poor devil?
Was e'er a human mind, upon its lofty level,
Conceived of by the like of thee?
Yet hast thou food that brings satiety,
Not satisfaction; gold that reftlessly,
Like quicksilver, melts down within
The hands; a game in which men never win;
A maid that, hanging on my breast,
Ogles a neighbor with her wanton glances;
Of fame the glorious godlike zest,
That like a short-lived meteor dances--
Show me the fruit that, ere it's plucked, will rot,
And trees from which new green is daily peeping!

_Mephistopheles_. Such a requirement scares me not;
Such treasures have I in my keeping.
Yet shall there also come a time, good friend,
When we may feast on good things at our leisure.

_Faust_. If e'er I lie content upon a lounge of pleasure--
Then let there be of me an end!
When thou with flattery canst cajole me,