English poem
Mephistopheles
by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832)
How blest the ape would think himself, if he Could only put into the lottery!
(In the meantime the young MONKEYS have been playing with a large globe, which they roll forwards)
THE HE-MONKEY The world behold; Unceasingly roll'd, It riseth and falleth ever; It ringeth like glass! How brittle, alas! 'Tis hollow, and resteth never. How bright the sphere, Still brighter here! Now living am I! Dear son, beware! Nor venture there! Thou too must die! It is of clay; 'Twill crumble away; There fragments lie.