Mephistopheles. Done or not done!--it may be managed thus:-- Martha. Now let me hear! Mephistopheles. By his death-bed I stood. It was a little better than of dung, Of mouldy straw; there, as a Christian should, With many a sin repented on his tongue, He died.--"Oh! how must I," he said, "Myself detest so to throw up my trade, And my dear wife abandon so! It kills me with the simple memory, oh! Might she but now forgive me, ere I die!" Martha. [_weeping_] Good soul! I have forgiven him long ago. Mephistopheles. [_continuing his interrupted narrative_] And yet was she, God knows, much more to blame than I. Martha. What! did he lie? on the grave's brink to lie! Mephistopheles. He fabled to the last, be sure, If I am half a connoisseur. "In sooth, I had no time to gape," he said, "First to get children, then to get them bread, To clothe them, and to put them to a trade, From toil and labor I had no release, And could not even eat my own thin slice in peace." Martha. Can it then be? has he forgotten quite My fag and drudgery, by day and night? Mephistopheles. Not quite! attend the sequel of my tale. "When last we sailed from Malta"--so he said, "For wife and children fervently I prayed, And Heaven then blew a favorable gale. We came across a Turkish ship that bore Home bullion to increase the Sultan's store, And soon, by valor's right, were masters Of all the Infidel piastres; The precious spoil was shared among the crew, And I received the part that was my due." Martha. But where and how?--has he then buried it? Mephistopheles. Who knows where the four winds have hurried it! A lady took him under her protection At Naples, as he wandered to and fro; She left him many a mark of her affection, As to his life's end he had cause to know. Martha. The knave, to treat his helpless orphans so! To all our misery and all our need, Amid his reckless life, he gave no heed! Mephistopheles. And for that cause he's dead. If I were you, Now mark me well, I tell you what I'd do; I'd mourn him decently for one chaste year, Then look about me for another dear. Martha. Alas! God knows it would be hard to find Another so completely to my mind. A better-hearted fool you never knew, A love of roving was his only vice; And foreign wine, and foreign women too, And the accursèd gambling dice. Mephistopheles. Such marriage-articles were most convenient, Had he to you been only half so lenient. On terms like these myself had no objection To change with you the ring of conjugal affection. Martha. You jest, mein Herr! Mephistopheles. [_aside_] A serious jest for me! I'd better go; for, if I tarry here, She'll take the devil at his word, I fear. [_To_ /Margaret/.] How stands it with your heart then?--is it free?