Classic Poem

SCENE XIII

Dipsychus

Twenty-one past, twenty-five coming on;
One third of life departed, nothing done.
Out of the Mammon of Unrighteousness
That we make friends, the Scripture is express.
Mephisto, come; we will agree
Content; you'll take a moiety.

Spirit

A moiety, ye gods, he, he!

Dipsychus

Three quarters then. One eye you close,
And lay your finger to your nose.
Seven eights? nine tenths? O griping beast!
Leave me a decimal at least.

Spirit

Oh, one of ten! to infect the nine
And make the devil a one be mine!
Oh, one! to jib all day, God wot,
When all the rest would go full trot!
One very little one, eh? to doubt with,
Just to pause, think, and look about with?
In course! you counted on no less—
You thought it likely I'd say yes!

Dipsychus.

Be it then thus—since that it must, it seems
Welcome, O world, henceforth; and farewell dreams!
Yet know, Mephisto, know, nor you nor I
Can in this matter either sell or buy;
For the fee simple of this trifling lot
To you or me, trust me, pertaineth not
I can but render what is of my will,
And behind it somewhat remaineth still
Oh, your sole chance was in the childish mind
Whose darkness dreamed that vows like this could bind;
Thinking all lost, it made all lost, and brought
In fact the ruin which had been but thought
Thank Heaven (or you!) that's past these many years,
And we have knowledge wiser than our fears.
So your poor bargain take, my man,
And make the best of it you can.

Spirit

With reservations! oh, how treasonable!
When I had let you off so reasonable.
However, I don't fear; be it so!
Brutus is honourable, I know;
So mindful of the dues of others,
So thoughtful for his poor dear brothers,
So scrupulous, considerate, kind—
He wouldn't leave the devil behind
If he assured him he had claims
For his good company to hell-flames!
No matter, no matter, the bargain's made;
And I for my part will not be afraid
Little Bo Peep, she lost her sheep
And knew not where to find them.
He, he! With reservations, Christo!
A child like you to cheat Mephisto!
With reservations! oh! ho, ho!
But time, my friend, has yet to show
Which of us two will closest fit
The proverb of the Biter Bit.
Little Bo Peep, she lost her sheep—

Dipsychus

Tell me thy name, now it is over.

Spirit

Oh!
Why, Mephistopheles, you know—
At least you've lately called me so;
Belial it was some days ago.
But take your pick; I've got a score—
Never a royal baby more.
For a brass plate upon a door
What think you of Cosmocrator ?

Dipsychus

Τους κοσμοκρατορας του αιωνος τουτου,
And that you are indeed, I do not doubt you.

Spirit

Ephesians, ain't it? near the end
You dropt a word to spare your friend.
What follows, too, in application
Would be absurd exaggeration.

Dipsychus

The Power of this World! hateful unto God!

Spirit

Cosmarchon's shorter, but sounds odd;
One wouldn't like, even if a true devil,
To be taken for a vulgar Jew devil.

Dipsychus

Yet in all these things we—'tis Scripture too—
Are more than conquerors, even over you.

Spirit

Come, come, don't maunder any longer,
Time tests the weaker and the stronger;
And we, without procrastination,
Must set, you know, to our vocation.
O goodness; won't you find it pleasant
To own the positive and present;
To see yourself like people round,
And feel your feet upon the ground!
Little Bo Peep, she lost her sheep!

Dipsychus

Peace, peace! I come.