FAUST  — Lyrics by Newman Levy from "Theatre Guyed," 1933, Alfred A. Knopf; music, Stewart Hendrickson.

Old Man Faust was verging on senility,
Long and lean and hoary were the whiskers that he wore.
"I'm getting old," he'd mutter as he mourned his lost virility,
"I'm not the gay young rascal that I was in days of yore."

There was a time, alas now gone, when all the flappers fell for me.
My prowess was a legend and a source of local pride;
But now I'm known as Grandpa Faust which, honestly, is hell for me.
The embers of my flaming youth lamentably have died.

"A neat and well turned female form that once disturbed me fearfully
My aged eyes now look upon with retrospective gloom.
Could I regain my vanished youth my soul I'd part with cheerfully-"
A clap of thunder rent the air and sulphur filled the room.

Beside him stood a stranger diabolical and sinister.
A smile of grim malevolence was on his handsome phiz.
Said Faust, "I'm almost certain this is not our local minister,
But I hate to think this bird's the bird I really think he is."

"My name is Mephistopheles," the stranger murmured pleasantly,
"Though all my little playmates call me Lucifer or Nick.
The metamorphosis you ask I'll manage for you presently.
For one of my accomplishments it's quite a simple trick."

"Just kindly sign this document prepared by my solicitor.
These legal technicalities at times seem rather strange,
Right here upon the dotted line. . . . Ah, thank you," said the visitor.
"Now gaze into that mirror - Yes, I thought you'd like the change."

Before him stood a paragon of virile masculinity.
"It's many years," Faust chuckled, "since I used to feel this way.
I know a dame named Marguerite who lives in this vicinity,
Let's drop around and visit her." The Devil said, "O.K."

With grim and tragic ruthlessness the plot moves forward hastily
As Faust, rejuvenated, makes amends for past delay;
Till Marguerite soon finds herself in what our parents tastily,
With delicate periphrasis would call The Family Way.

A rather narrow prejudice prevailed in that locality,
Which indicates the queer naive conventions of the time,
For in that straitlaced atmosphere of primitive morality
Infanticide was looked upon as somewhat of a crime.

The poor unwanted infant there reclining by its mama's side,
To use a current metaphor, was put upon the spot;
And Marguerite quite promptly was arrested charged with homicide,
And left to mourn her tragedy upon a prison cot.

And there, her reason tottering beneath the sharp impacts of life,
Poor Marguerite bemoans her sad and melancholy fate.
"Oh why did no one tell me anything about the facts of life,
And not to trust a city chap, before it was too late?"

With this she dies, and Faustus, too, conveniently perishes,
While Mephistopheles looks on with wild frustrated rage.
He says, "The next time any guy a notion like that cherishes
I'll simply say, 'Forget it, Kid, and try to be your age.'
 

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