Faust monologue (Act 7) — Faust: A Tragedy

A writing, pedant!--hast thou never found A man whose word was better than his bond? Is't not enough that by my spoken word, Of all I am and shall be thou art lord? The world drives on, wild wave engulfing wave, And shall a line bind me, if I would be a knave? Yet 'tis a whim deep-graven in the heart, And from such fancies who would gladly part? Happy within whose honest breast concealed There lives a faith, nor time nor chance can shake; Yet still a parchment, written, stamped, and sealed, A spectre is before which all must quake. Commit but once thy word to the goose-feather, Then must thou yield the sway to wax and leather. Say, devil--paper, parchment, stone, or brass? With me this coin or that will pass; Style, or chisel, or pen shall it be? Thou hast thy choice of all the three.