Mephistopheles. Oh! of course, of course! Then will you speak, till you are hoarse, Of love, and constancy, and truth, And feelings of eternal youth-- Will that too be the simple sooth? Faust. It will! it will!--for, when I feel, And for the feeling, the confusion Of feelings, that absorbs my mind, Seek for names, and none can find, Sweep through the universe's girth For every highest word to give it birth; And then this soul-pervading flame, Infinite, endless, endless name, Call you this nought but devilish delusion? Mephistopheles. Still I am right! Faust. Hold! mark me, you Are right indeed! for this is true, Who _will_ be right, and only has a tongue, Is never wrong. Come, I confess thee master in debating, That I may be delivered from thy prating. /end of act third/. ACT IV. Scene I. /Martha's/ _Garden._ /Margaret/ _on_ /Faust's/ _arm;_ /Martha/ _with_ /Mephistopheles/, _walking up and down._ Margaret. I feel it well, 'tis from pure condescension You pay to one like me so much attention. With travellers 'tis a thing of course, To be contented with the best they find; For sure a man of cultivated mind Can have small pleasure in my poor discourse. Faust. One look from thee, one word, delights me more Than all the world's high-vaunted lore. [_He kisses her hand._ Margaret. O trouble not yourself! how could you kiss it so? It is so coarse, so rough! for I must go Through all the work above stairs and below, Mother will have it so. [_They pass on._ Martha. And you, sir, will it still Be your delight from place to place to roam? Mephistopheles. In this our duty guides us, not our will. With what sad hearts from many a place we go, Where we had almost learned to be at home! Martha. When one is young it seems a harmless gambol, Thus round and round through the wide world to ramble: But soon the evil day comes on, And as a stiff old bachelor to die Has never yet done good to any one. Mephistopheles. I see ahead, and fear such wretched fate. Martha. Then, sir, take warning ere it be too late! [_They pass on._ Margaret. Yes, out of sight, and out of mind! You see me now, and are so kind: But you have friends at home of station high, With far more wit and far more sense than I. Faust. Their sense, dear girl, is often nothing more Than vain conceit of vain short-sighted lore. Margaret. How mean you that? Faust. Oh that the innocent heart And sweet simplicity, unspoiled by art, So seldom knows its own rare quality! That fair humility, the comeliest grace Which bounteous Nature sheds on blooming face-- Margaret. Do thou bestow a moment's thought on me, I shall have time enough to think of thee. Faust. You are then much alone?