FAUST
One glance, one word from thee doth charm me more
Than the world's wisdom or the sage's lore.
[He kisses her hand.]
MARGARET
Nay! trouble not yourself! A hand so coarse,
So rude as mine, how can you kiss!
What constant work at home must I not do perforce!
My mother too exacting is.
[They pass on.]
MARTHA
Thus, sir, unceasing travel is your lot?