_Meph._ Quite true--but see, she comes. With your permission, and no doubt you’ll grant it, I will withdraw--but ere I take my leave, Allow me to congratulate you both On the great happiness in store for you. _Gott._ You’re more than good! _Meph._ Some people seem to think so. But then they flatter me--ha! ha! Good day! [_Exit._ _Gott._ At last! at last! Why, how I tremble! Strange! I am but little moved at thought of death. I’ve stared his kingship out of countenance A dozen times a day. But, in the presence of this gentle child, My well-beloved and loving kinswoman, I am no better than a shaking coward! _Enter GRETCHEN._ _Gott._ Gretchen! At last! _Gret._ (_amazed_). Gottfried! _Gott._ Ay, home again! Hale, sound, and whole, with money in my purse, And a good-sounding title to my name, So give me joy of it. Why, how is this? Hast thou no welcome for me, cousin Gretchen? _Gret._ (_with an effort_). Ay, welcome home, dear Gottfried! welcome home! _Gott._ But wherefore dost thou sigh? _Gret._ Nay, heed me not, But tell me of thyself--the country side Rings with the tidings of thy valour. _Gott._ Bah! I am no hero, Gretchen, in myself-- A plain, rude man, with just so much of sense As to go gladly two leagues round about To save a broken crown; who loves not blood-- Unless, indeed, it be his own, and that He loves too well to lose it willingly! So, cousin Gretchen, If there be aught of valour in my deeds, The merit of it is thine own, not mine. _Gret._ Mine, Gottfried? mine? _Gott._ Ay, for it came from thee! It lives for thee, and it will die with thee! Gretchen, my dearly loved---- _Gret._ Oh, Gottfried! Gottfried! _Gott._ For many a year, at home and far away, I’ve had thee at my heart, but did not dare To speak to thee of love. Misjudge me not-- I do not blush that I have loved thee, Gretchen. God sent such truth and virgin innocence To teach rough men how holy love may be. Let that man blush (if such a one there live) Who knows thy maiden heart and loves thee not. I would not be that man! But if, in giving tongue to my dumb love, I overstep the bounds of reverence, Look down in pity on my poor mad heart; And tell me gently that for man to hope For more than sister-love from such as thou Is more than man should dare--and I’ll believe it! _Gret._ Gottfried, have mercy on me and be silent! Dear Gottfried--brother, be my brother still! Oh, be my brother--I have need of thee! Such need! Oh, Heaven pity me, such need!