4
Tower of Ivory
No true antiphony. Grant him a space
To save himself from craggy Caucasus
Before you make a rainbow of a maid.
Faustus
Ah, you've the true mathesis, sir, the pure
Sciential. Step by step your logic mind
Works to the core of things; seeks me out first
An elixation, seething of the thoughts
Hot in the stew-pan of the brain before
Elixir's had. All true philosophy
Progresses thus; expulsion here, and here
Assation till the pure digested truth
Turns into fire,—else there is myopsy
And phantoms seen.
Christopher
The true mathesis, Fritz!
You mark? I'm hailed philosopher.
Fritz
His eye
Reflects a certain doubt upon his tongue.
