_Gott._ Gretchen, my sister, if no more than brother, Then always brother, now as heretofore! Why dost thou weep? Nay, nay, take heart again. Tell me thy sorrow. _Gret._ (_aghast_). Tell it unto _thee_? No, not to thee! I have my punishment. If thou hast love for me--I know thou hast-- Go, pray with all thy heart for such as I. If thou hast pity--and I know thou hast-- Ask me no more, but go and pray for me! _Gott._ Well, be it so. Enough that thou hast cause To hide thy grief. May Heaven lighten it! I seek to know no more. My love for thee Is deathless as the faith it feeds upon! _Gret._ Thy love for me comes of thy faith in me? Gottfried! Let thy love die! Uproot it from thine heart; It feeds on falsehood! Oh, uproot the weed; It hath no place amid the God-grown flowers-- Truth, steadfast honour, simple manliness-- That blossom in that goodly garden-land. Let thy love die, brave heart; I am unworthy! _Gott._ (_horror-struck_). Gretchen! what sayest thou? Unworthy? And of what? Of such as I? (_After a pause._) God help me if I read thy words aright! Thou, Gretchen, thou? No, no--it could not be! Thou, Gretchen? Oh, mankind is not so base! _Gret._ Oh, Gottfried, pity me--my heart is broken! _Gott._ Oh, my poor love--my gentle angel-heart! Oh, death, kind death--that thou canst surely strike, Hadst thou no pity on this poor fair flower? Oh, death, kind death, Would Heaven’s mercy _thou_ hadst been at hand, To fold my darling in thy sheltering wings! (_With sudden fury._) His name? Quick! quick! His name! _Gret._ (_wildly_). Nay, ask me not! In this have mercy! _Gott._ (_drawing his sword_). Quick--his name, I say! _Gret._ No, no--ah, Gottfried, spare him! _Gott._ Quick--his name! _Gret._ He loved me, Gottfried--spare him--he is gone. Oh, Gottfried, Gottfried--I---- (_Falls senseless at his feet._) _Gott._ Come hither, all! [_During these lines the _Soldiers_, FRIEDRICH, and _Girls_ have entered._ His name, give me his name! (_They turn away._) Why, how is this?-- Why turn you from me, comrades? Have you heard? _Fried._ Ay, Gottfried, we have heard. _Gott._ A curse on you! Why hold you back his name? _Fried._ In mercy to thee. _Gott._ (_seizing him and threatening him_). Have mercy on thyself! Am I in mood To play with words? I charge thee on thy life, Give me his name. _Fried._ Then steel thy heart to hear it. They say it was thy friend! _Gott._ My friend? _Fried._ Ay, Faustus! _Gott._ Faustus? My friend? They lie! _Bar._ Alas, alas! She hath confessed the truth!