1. The Problem of Faust

> “Yet a few paces onward, up to yonder stone; > Here a brief while we'll rest us from our straying. > Here have I often sat and mused alone, > And racked myself with fasting and with praying. > For rich in hope and staunch in faith, > With tears and sighs and frenzied wringing > Of aching hands, to stay the Death > I thought, Heaven's Lord to mercy bringing. > And now the crowd's applause rings in my ears like scorn! > O could'st thou read what in my heart is hidden. > Father and son, no more than babe unborn, > Merit the fame that seeks them thus unbidden. > My father was a worthy gentleman, > To fame unknown, who sought with honest passion, > Yet whimsical device, as was his fashion, > Nature and all her holy rounds to scan; > In the Black's Kitchen's murky region, > Cloistered with masters of the craft. > He, guided by prescriptions legion, > Concocted nauseous draught on draught. > There a red lion with lily wedded, > A wooer bold within the tepid bath, > From bridal bower to bridal bower was speeded, > Racked by the naked fire's flaming wrath.”