Mephistopheles. I hope the ladies will not think me rude, That uninvited thus I here intrude. [_Observing_ /Margaret/, _he draws back respectfully._] I have commands for Mistress Martha Schwerdtlein. Martha. For me? what has the gentleman to say? Mephistopheles. [_softly to her_] Excuse my freedom. I perceive that you Have visitors of rank to-day; For this time I shall bid adieu, And after dinner do myself the pleasure To wait upon you, when you're more at leisure. Martha. [_aloud_] Think, child! of all things in the world the last! My Gretchen for a lady should have passed! Margaret. The gentleman is far too good; I'm a poor girl--boast neither wealth nor blood. This dress, these jewels, are not mine. Mephistopheles. 'Tis not the dress alone that I admire; She has a mien, a gait, a look so fine, That speak the lady more than costliest attire. Martha. And now your business, sir? I much desire-- Mephistopheles. Would God I had a better tale to tell! Small thanks I should receive, I knew it well. Your husband's dead--his last fond words I bear. Martha. Is dead! the good fond soul! O woe! My man is dead! flow, sorrow, flow! Margaret. Beseech thee, dearest Martha, don't despair. Mephistopheles. Now hear my mournful story to the end. Margaret. I would not love a man on earth, to rend Me thus with grief, when he might hap to die. Mephistopheles. Joy hath its sorrow, sorrow hath its joy; Twin sisters are they, as the proverb saith. Martha. Now let me hear the manner of his death. Mephistopheles. Where Padua's sacred turrets rise, Above the grave of holy Antony, On consecrated ground thy husband lies, And slumbers for eternity. Martha. No further message? is this all? Mephistopheles. Yes! one request, and that not small. For his soul's peace, your good man wanted Three hundred masses to be chanted. This is the whole of my commission. Martha. What! not a jewel? not a coin? No journeyman, however poor, However wild, could make such an omission, But in the bottom of his pouch is sure To keep some small memorial for his wife, And rather beg, and rather pine Away the remnant of his life-- Mephistopheles. Madam! for your hard case I greatly grieve, But your good husband had no gold to leave. His sins and follies he lamented sore-- Yes! and bewailed his own mishap much more. Margaret. Alas for all the miseries of mankind! He shall not want my oft-repeated prayer. Mephistopheles. [_to_ /Margaret/] Thou, gentle heart, dost well deserve to find A husband worthy of a bride so fair. Margaret. Ah no!--for that, it is too soon. Mephistopheles. A lover, then, might in the meantime do. 'Tis bounteous Heaven's choicest boon To fondle in one's arms so sweet a thing as you. Margaret. Such things are never done with us.