_Meph._ (_moving after him, but drawing back at sight of the church_). The blight of hell upon thy head, false priest! False priest? True priest! true to the lying trade That I have taught thy smug-faced brotherhood! The old, old doom! My sword against myself! As once it was, so ever must it be! Well, go thy ways! Go to thy kennel, dog Dominican,[A] And gnaw the fleshless bones of thy dead joy! The end has yet to come, and Time’s my friend. But, oh! just Heaven, Is the fight fair, when this mine enemy May traffic with me till his end is gained, Then steep his chicken-soul in penitence, And cheat damnation? So it comes to pass I gather fools, blind fools, and only fools! Oh, for the soul of one wise man--but one-- To show, in triumph, at the Reckoning! [A] The Dominicans were stigmatized as “_Domini Canes_”--dogs of the Lord. _Enter GOTTFRIED._ _Gott._ My search is vain--she is not at her home. Well, patience, patience! I must wait for her As best I may! (_Sees MEPHISTO._) So, so; whom have we here? Surely I know this worthy gentleman? _Meph._ Your humble servant, sir! _Gott._ ’Tis Faustus’ friend. _Meph._ His very loving friend. But welcome home-- Fame has been busy with your worship’s valour. _Gott._ (_anxiously_). Sir, you can give me news of cousin Gretchen. Is the maid safe and well? _Meph._ Why, as to “well,” What loving maid is ever in rude health, When he who has her heart is far afield? But as to “safe”--why, have you not a friend Who’s sworn to keep a watch upon her safety? And is not that friend Faustus? Have more faith! _Gott._ True, true. He has watched over her? _Meph._ He has, Most conscientiously. He never leaves her. _Gott._ I breathe again! My heart had sunk within me. I asked some village girls an hour ago For news of her. Well, this one shook her head, And that one sighed; a third looked dubious, Uncertain whether she should shake or sigh, Then finally did both. I breathe again. _Meph._ The maid is well--a little pale, perhaps. But then, poor child--her lover at the wars! ’Twas hardly fair to leave her as you did, With a mere cold “good-bye.” _Gott._ Why, as for that, I have no claim, alas! to rank as lover. _Meph._ Ah, pardon me--I know the maiden’s heart. _Gott._ Sir, you are jesting! _Meph._ Jesting? Not at all. For two months past, the town, from end to end, Has known no topic but your worship’s valour; And while she trembled for your well-being, Her bosom swelled with pride when brave men told Of Gottfried’s chivalry. Oh, mark my words, You have gained more promotion than you wot of! _Gott._ Can this be true?