English poem
The Monkeys
by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832)
If good luck attend, If fitly things blend, Our jargon with thought And with reason is fraught!
FAUST (as above)
A flame is kindled in my breast! Let us begone! nor linger here!
MEPHISTOPT'IELES (in the same position)
It now at least must be confessed, That poets sometimes are sincere.
(The caldron begins to boil over; a great flame arises, which streams up the chimney. The WITCH comes down the chimney with horrible cries.)