_Faus._ As stands a felon at the judgment-seat, Bent with the burden of his published shame, Stand I before thee! _Gret._ I am not thy judge. _Faus._ I have been judged, and to my lifelong doom I bow. Yet by the love of long ago-- By the pure days when yet that love was young, Shed but one ray of light--one gleam of hope Upon the darkness of my dungeoned soul! _Gret._ What wouldst thou with me? Speak, my hour is brief. _Faus._ Time was when every tongue was eloquent With legends of thy God-sent charity. Gretchen, Of all the starving crowd thy hands have fed, Never was wretch so famine-worn as I. Of all the agony thy words have soothed, Never soothed they such agony as mine! I come to thee, as others came to thee, In shame and sorrow--hungry and athirst, For pity and for pardon. _Gret._ Oh, Faustus, is it meet that thou and I, Two trembling sinners, guilty hand in hand, Should ask each other’s mercy? Who am I That I should deal in pardons! _Faus._ (_wildly_). What am I That I should live unpardoned! Hear my prayer, And save me from myself. Thy love is dead. So let it rest--’tis fit that it should die. I would not raise it from its solemn grave For all the joy that it would bring to me. I pray thy pity, Gretchen, not thy love. _Gret._ Kneel thou to Heaven, and not to such as I; So shall thy pardon come from that great Source From which alone can pardon profit thee. My time is brief--I have to make my peace! [_Exit._ _Faus._ Gone! And with her, my only hope on earth! Oh, Heaven, send me my death--send me my death, And all that follows death! Am I to live With this black blight upon my tortured soul. Or carry with me into dark old age The canker of an unforgiven sin? Curse not the world with my unhallowed life, Or me, with life on this thy goodly world! Send me my death, oh Heaven--send me my death! [_Falls sobbing on table. Door opens, and GOTTFRIED enters, with sword drawn, and another in his hand. He pauses, advances to FAUSTUS, strikes him heavily on the shoulder, and puts one sword on table._ _Gott._ Sleeper, awake! Thine hour or mine hath come! _Faus._ (_starting and turning round_). Gottfried! _Gott._ Ay, Gottfried! Oh, mine enemy! Arise, destroyer! Thou that layest waste The flowers of heaven with thy plague-laden blast! Thou devil-wielded scourge! Thou thief of souls! Make thine account with God--thy course is run! _Faus._ Spare thou thy barbèd words for worthier foes. There is a voice within my tortured heart To whose anathemas thine utterance Is but a kindly whisper. Use thy sword!