The conclusion’s inescapable:

If all men suffer when all cause trouble,

Then His Majesty himself is harmed.

The Commander in Chief

How riotous things are in this wild age!

They all lash out, and are lashed, these days,

And everyone is deaf to all command.

The citizen behind his wall,

The knight in his cliff-top tower,

Have sworn to defy us all,

And hold fast to their power.

The impatient mercenaries

Impetuously demand their pay,

And if we owed them less, already

They’d be off, and march away.

If one forbids what all desire,

He’s disturbed a hornet’s nest:

The kingdom, they should keep entire,

Is plundered, and distressed.

They’d like to wreak a wild disorder,

Half the world has been dissolved:

There are still kings beyond our border,

But none of them think they’re involved.

The Treasurer

In allies, then, who’d put their trust!

The subsidies they promised us,

Like water pipes are all blocked up.

And, Sire, in all your wide estate,

Who’s benefited from the take?

Wherever you go, there’s some new pup,

Who declares his independence.

We watch, while they carry on:

We’ve given away our rights, and hence,

No rights are left for us, not one.

Our parties too, however called,

Can’t be depended on today:

They like to praise, and blame: it’s all

Impartial both their love and hate.

They’re resting: they take cover,

The Ghibelline, and Guelph.

Now, who’ll help his neighbour?

Each man just helps himself.

The golden doors are fastened tight,

Men scrape and scratch and glean, all right,

But our coffers still are empty.

The Steward

What evils, too, I must endure!

We try to save each day, I’m sure,

But every day sees greater need:

So, daily, some new torment’s mine.

The cooks, alas, have all they want:

Boar, pheasant, hare and venison,

Ducks and peacocks, chickens, geese,

Payment in kind, and guaranteed,

They keep coming all the time,

But in the end we’re short of wine.

Though cask on cask once filled the cellar,

The best of vintages, and names, there,

These noble lords can drink forever,

And haven’t left a single drop.

The council too must have their fill,

They grasp their tankards tight until,

Under the table, they have to stop.

Now I’ll count the cost, you’ll see,

The moneylenders won’t spare me,

The advances that they give gladly,

Will eat the future years, on top.

Pigs don’t have time to fatten: instead

Men seize the pillows from your bed,

Even the bread from your table’s gone.

The Emperor (After reflection, to Mephistopheles.)

Fool, do you know anything else that’s wrong?

Mephistopheles

Me? Nothing at all! I see splendour, as I must,

Around me, of you and yours! – Lack trust,

Where Majesty commands so, without question,

Where ready force scatters the enemy faction?

Where strong wills, with wit to understand,

Active and various, are all at hand?

What, for some evil purpose, could combine,

For darkness, then, where such stars shine?

Murmurs

Here’s a rogue – who understands –

He’ll tell lies – as long as he can –

I wonder too – what lies behind –

And what’s in front? – A project of some kind –

Mephistopheles

In this world, what isn’t lacking, somewhere, though?

Sometimes it’s this, or that: here what’s missing’s gold.

True you can’t just rake it up from the floor,

But wisdom knows the mines where one gets more.

In mountain veins, foundation walls,

Coined and un-coined golden hoards,

And ask me, now, who’ll bring it to the light:

One gifted with Mind’s power and Nature’s might.

The Chancellor

Mind and Nature – don’t speak to Christians so.

That’s why men burn atheists, below,

Such speech is dangerous, all right,

Nature is sin, and Mind’s the devil,

It harbours within it, Doubt, that evil,

Their misshapen hermaphrodite.

Not so with us! – In the Emperor’s land

Two kinds of men are still at hand

Worthy alone to defend the throne:

The Saints are they, and the Knights:

They enter life’s uncertain fights,

Rewards of Church and State they own:

Firm in their resistance, check

The confused aims of everyman.

No, Nature and Mind are heretics!

Wizards! Ruining town and land.

And you, with brazen impudence still

Invoke them here in this high circle:

You’re fostering the corrupted will,

Fools are always hand in hand.

Mephistopheles

By this I recognise a most learned lord!

What you can’t feel lies miles abroad,

What you can’t grasp, you think, is done with too.

What you don’t count on can’t be true,

What you can’t weigh won’t weigh, of old,

What you don’t coin: that can’t be gold.

The Emperor

You won’t sort out our faults like that,

Will Lenten sermons make men fat?

I’m tired of the eternal ‘if and when’:

We’re short of gold, well fine, so fetch some then.

Mephistopheles

I’ll fetch what you wish, and I’ll fetch more:

Easy it’s true, but then easy things weigh more:

It’s there already, yet how we might achieve it,

That’s the tricky thing, knowing how to seize it.

Just think how, in those times of consternation,

When a human flood drowned land and nation,

People were so terrified, everywhere,

They hid their treasures, here and there.

So it was when mighty Rome held sway,

And so it goes on, yesterday and today.

Still buried in the earth, why, there it is:

The earth is the Emperor’s, so it’s his.

The Treasurer

For a Fool his aim’s not out of sight:

It’s true, that’s an old Imperial right.

The Chancellor

Satan lays out his gilded nets, for you,

These things don’t square with what’s good and true.

The Steward

Only bring them to court: I’ll welcome the sight,

And I’ll gladly accept the thing as not quite right.

The Commander in Chief

The Fool’s clever, to promise what each of us needs:

A soldier will never ask from whence it all proceeds.

Mephistopheles

If you think I’m cheating you, maybe,

Why here’s the man: ask Astrology!

He knows each circling hour and house:

So ask him: how are the Heavens now?

Murmurs

Two rogues, there – already known –

Fool and Dreamer – so near the throne –

An idle song – an ancient rhyme –

The Fool plays – the Wise Man speaks, in time –

The Astrologer (Speaks, with Mephistopheles prompting him.)

The Sun, himself, he is of purest gold:

Mercury, messenger, of riches told:

Venus has bewitched you all, and she

Looks on you, soon and late, quite lovingly:

The chaste Moon’s mood holds fast:

Mars won’t harm: his strength won’t last:

And Jupiter remains the loveliest sight:

While Saturn’s great, but far away and slight.

His metal we don’t greatly venerate,

Light of worth, though leaden in its weight.

Yes! When Sun and Moon are conjoined fine,

Silver and gold will make the whole world shine:

The rest as well in turn are all achieved,

Palaces, gardens proud, and rosy cheeks:

All this he brings this highly knowledgeable man:

He can deliver, too, what nobody else here can.

The Emperor

The words they say, I hear them twice,

And yet I’m not convinced they’re right.

Murmurs

What’s all that? – A joke gone flat –

Horoscopy – And Chemistry –

I’ve heard that vein – Hoped in vain –

Come, quick – It’s still a trick –

Mephistopheles

They stand around: they’re all amazed,

They don’t trust what can be found,

One babbles about deadly nightshade,

The other of some jet-black hound.

What matter if one thinks I’m jesting,

Or another calls it sorcery,

If the soles of their feet are itching,

If their firm step totters towards me.

All can feel the secret working

Of Nature’s everlasting power,

And from its deepest lurking,

A living vein shall rise and flower.

When every member twitches,

When all looks strange to your eyes,

Make up your minds, be delvers,

Here the players, there the prize!

Murmurs

It’s like a lead-weight on my feet –

My arm’s swollen – but then, it’s gouty –

There’s a tickle here in my big toe –

All the way down my back it goes –

From these signs, I’d say we’re near

A rich vein of treasure, here.

The Emperor

Quick then! Don’t slope off there!

Let’s test your froth of lies,

Show us, all, this rarest prize.

I’ll lay down the sword and sceptre,

With my own noble hands, as well,

If you don’t lie, complete the work myself,

And, if you lie, then send you down to Hell!

Mephistopheles

I’ll find the way there anyway –

Yet I really can’t exaggerate

What’s lying round ownerless, everywhere.

The farmer, ploughing the furrows, lays bare

A crock of gold the clods unfold:

Seeks saltpetre from damp limy walls,

And finds there golden rolls of gold,

In his poor hands: frightened by all.

What caverns exist to be blown open,

Through what shafts and cuttings then,

Burrow those gold-divining men,

Those neighbours of the Underworld!

Secure in vast ancient cellars, find,

Golden plates, bowls, cups for wine,

In rows, and heaps where they were hurled:

Goblets fashioned out of rubies,

And if they wants to try their uses,

Beside them there’s the ancient fluid.

Yet – I would trust the expert though –

The wooden casks rotted long ago,

The wine makes tartar, in the liquid.

Not just gold, and jewels, fine

But the essence then of noble wine

Terror hides, and night, as stark.

So quiz the wise untiringly:

It’s trivial, by day, to see:

Mystery: houses in the dark.

The Emperor

See to it then! What use is it out of sight?

Whatever’s valuable must see the light.

Who knows a rogue for certain but by day?

At night all cows are black, and cats are grey.

The pots down there, full of golden weight –

Drive your plough, and, ploughing, excavate.

Mephistopheles

Take hoe and spade: and dig yourself,

Labouring will make you great,

A herd of golden calves, you’ll help

To rise from out their buried state.

Then with delight, without delay,

You can, yourself, your love array:

Glittering colours, shining gems, will best

Enhance your majesty, and her loveliness.

The Emperor

Quick then, quick! How slow it always is!

The Astrologer (Prompted by Mephistopheles.)

Sire, restrain your urgent passion, please.

First let all your pleasant pastimes go:

Distracted natures won’t achieve the goal.

First we must atone for them in quiet,

Lower things are gained by the higher.

Who wants the good, must first be good:

Who wants delight, must calm the blood:

Who longs for wine, treads ripened grapes:

Who hopes for miracles, strengthens then his faith.

The Emperor

So let the time be passed in merriment!

Ash Wednesday will achieve our grave intent.

And we can celebrate, wild Carnival,

More riotously, meanwhile, after all.

(They exit to the sound of trumpets.)

Mephistopheles

How merit and luck are linked together

These fools can’t see, no, not a one:

If they’d the Philosopher’s Stone, as ever,

There’d lack a philosopher for the stone.