XII
Project Gutenberg EPUB3 edition
Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, Clarke, Harry, and Taylor, Bayard
No, it is just in play.
FAUST
How?
MARGARET
Go! you’ll laugh at me.
(She pulls off the leaves and murmurs.)
FAUST
What murmurest thou?
MARGARET (half aloud)
He loves me—loves me not.
FAUST
Thou sweet, angelic soul!
MARGARET (continues)
Loves me—not—loves me—not— (plucking the last leaf, she cries with frank delight:)
He loves me!
FAUST
Yes, child! and let this blossom-word For thee be speech divine! He loves thee! Ah, know’st thou what it means? He loves thee!
(He grasps both her hands.)
MARGARET
I’m all a-tremble!
FAUST
O tremble not! but let this look, Let this warm clasp of hands declare thee What is unspeakable! To yield one wholly, and to feel a rapture In yielding, that must be eternal! Eternal!—for the end would be despair. No, no,—no ending! no ending!
MARTHA (coming forward)
The night is falling.
MEPHISTOPHELES
Ay! we must away.
MARTHA
I’d ask you, longer here to tarry, But evil tongues in this town have full play. It’s as if nobody had nothing to fetch and carry, Nor other labor, But spying all the doings of one’s neighbor: And one becomes the talk, do whatsoe’er one may. Where is our couple now?
MEPHISTOPHELES
Flown up the alley yonder,
The wilful summer-birds!
MARTHA
He seems of her still fonder.
MEPHISTOPHELES
And she of him. So runs the world away!