_Gret._ Nay, I’ll not plague thee with half-hidden truths, I’ll tell thee all, and thou shalt counsel me. Last night I slept--it might have been this morning, I cannot tell--and, as I slept, methought That as I wandered all alone, amid The moonlight tombs of some old cloistered square, I saw a man, arrayed in monkish frock, And yet (so much at variance with themselves Are sleeping fantasies) he was no monk, But some young errant knight of noble rank, The very flower of gentle chivalry! Entranced, I gazed upon him, marvelling much That aught of mortal mould could be so fair; (’Twas but a dream--we cannot frame our dreams) And as I gazed, methought he knelt him down, And vowed himself to me, for evermore! There--read me that! _Mar._ I will. Now, mark my words, The lover whom thou seest in a dream Will, in due season, court thee--in a dream. And, if the courtship prosper, as it will, Some day, perhaps, he’ll wed thee--in a dream. Then after many long and life-like dreams Of married misery, black looks, rough words, Hard blows and mutual discontent, thou’lt wake And bless thy lucky stars it was a dream! Dream on, my child, pray thou mayst never wake, As I have done. Come, there is work to do. [_Exeunt together._ _Enter FAUSTUS and MEPHISTO._ _Faus._ At last, at last--unless my heart deceives me, Here is the glade, and that should be her house. _Meph._ Ay, that’s the house that holds the guardian maid Who is to lead you whither you should go, And save your lordship from yourself--and me. Henceforth that hovel is to be your church, With savoury fumes of roast and boiled for incense; The dim recesses of the chimney corner Will serve you as a snug confessional. How say you? Will you enter? If you do, You’ll find the fair high priestess of the shrine Intent upon the secular employ Of hanging clothes to dry. Or will you wait Until my pretty enemy is free To enter on her spiritual functions? _Faus._ Peace! mocking spirit. Stay thy ribald tongue. Dost thou, whom none believe, believe in none? _Meph._ Nay, I’m the most confiding soul alive. I credit all I’m told. Not by the tongue-- Men do not speak to me with tongues. No, no. Man keeps his words and deeds for man’s behoof. They speak a language that I cannot fathom. _I_ read the heart and brain, and all _they_ tell me, With childlike faith, I readily accept. _Faus._ I would my heart were as an open book, That all might read therein! But who comes here? By all the powers that rule mischance, ’tis Gottfried! What shall I do? How justify myself In my old comrade’s eyes? _Meph._ Leave that to me. Bear yourself boldly; put a good face on’t, And I will frame excuses that will serve. _Enter GOTTFRIED._