_Fried._ It’s a strange world! Here is a plain, shrewd fellow, With so much simple sense that when he hears Of hearts and homes laid waste through misplaced faith, Uplifts his hands in wonderment to think That men can be such fools; and, thanking Heaven That he is not as blind as others are, He trusts a pretty woman to his friend! _Aga._ But see, she comes! Quick! take me hence away. _Enter FAUSTUS and GRETCHEN, lovingly. GRETCHEN, seeing AGATHA, advances to speak to her. AGATHA turns about, and exit quickly with FRIEDRICH._ _Gret._ Oh, Faustus, didst thou see? She turned from me! _Faus._ Nay, nay, she saw thee not. _Gret._ She saw me well! They shun me, one and all. Where’er I go, My loved companions look at me askance, And then, with sidelong looks and pitying words, They whisper to each other of my shame! _Faus._ Nay, calm thy fears. They do not speak of thee. _Gret._ Oh, Faustus, Faustus, I know the purport of their whispered words, As though they had been spoken trumpet-tongued! _Faus._ Nay, never heed them, Gretchen. _Gret._ Never heed them! They were my world before thou cam’st to me. They loved me, Faustus, and they honoured me. And now they turn away from me, as though I bore a deadly poison in my glance! _Faus._ Dismiss them from thy thoughts. We will go hence To some far-distant land where none shall know us, And there the bond of all-forgiving Heaven Shall sanctify our love. _Gret._ Oh, Faustus, Faustus, I have thine heart? _Faus._ For ever, and for aye! _Gret._ Ah, Heaven is kind to me, for all my sin! For when my heart is more than common sad, I need but close my eyes--and all at once, I wander at my will amid the days When thou and I may face the world again. And yet I am no fitting mate for thee. Thou, a great lord--rich, honoured, and beloved-- I, a poor simple, untaught, peasant girl! Yet bear with me--my love shall plague thee little, Though ever and anon I come to thee, With faltering step and tearful downcast eyes, A timid suppliant for such alms of love As thou in thy good-will mayst grant to me. So, when thou seest, kneeling at thy feet, Thy poor, mad, love-sick, trusting, trembling wife, Throw her in charity one little flower Out of the boundless garden of thy heart, That she may go rejoicing on her way. _Faus._ Thou art, indeed, no fitting mate for me-- Thou, glorious in the sheen of innocence. (_She covers her eyes._) I, devil-taught in all unholy art! Oh, Gretchen, dearly loving--dearly loved-- Wronged beyond all repair, yet all-forgiving, The simple utterance of thy trusting heart Is terrible to my unhallowed soul As the proclaimed doom of angered Heaven!