Mephistopheles monologue (Act 7) — Faust: A Tragedy

[_solus_] Continue thus to hold at nought Man's highest power, his power of thought; Thus let the Father of all lies With shows of magic blind thine eyes, And thou art mine, a certain prize. To him hath Fate a spirit given, With reinless impulse ever forwards driven, Whose hasty striving overskips The joys that flow for mortal lips; Him drag I on through life's wild chase, Through flat unmeaning emptiness; He shall cling and cleave to me, Like a sprawling child in agony, And food and drink, illusive hovering nigh, Shall shun his parchèd lips, and cheat his longing eye; He shall pine and pant and strain For the thing he may not gain, And, though he ne'er had sold him to do evil, He would have damned himself without help from the devil.