Part 57

MARGARET

The man who with thee goes, thy mate, Within my deepest, inmost soul I hate. In all my life there’s nothing Has given my heart so keen a pang of loathing, As his repulsive face has done.

FAUST

Nay, fear him not, my sweetest one!

MARGARET

I feel his presence like something ill. I’ve else, for all, a kindly will, But, much as my heart to see thee yearneth, The secret horror of him returneth; And I think the man a knave, as I live! If I do him wrong, may God forgive!

FAUST

There must be such queer birds, however.

MARGARET

Live with the like of him, may I never! When once inside the door comes he, He looks around so sneeringly, And half in wrath: One sees that in nothing no interest he hath: ’Tis written on his very forehead That love, to him, is a thing abhorréd. I am so happy on thine arm, So free, so yielding, and so warm, And in his presence stifled seems my heart.

FAUST

Foreboding angel that thou art!

MARGARET

It overcomes me in such degree, That wheresoe’er he meets us, even, I feel as though I’d lost my love for thee. When he is by, I could not pray to Heaven. That burns within me like a flame, And surely, Henry, ’tis with thee the same.

FAUST

There, now, is thine antipathy!

MARGARET

But I must go.

FAUST

Ah, shall there never be A quiet hour, to see us fondly plighted, With breast to breast, and soul to soul united?

MARGARET

Ah, if I only slept alone! I’d draw the bolts to-night, for thy desire; But mother’s sleep so light has grown, And if we were discovered by her, ’Twould be my death upon the spot!

FAUST

Thou angel, fear it not! Here is a phial: in her drink But three drops of it measure, And deepest sleep will on her senses sink.

MARGARET

What would I not, to give thee pleasure? It will not harm her, when one tries it?

FAUST

If ’twould, my love, would I advise it?