Mart. (to Mephistopheles). Of what now are you thinking? You heed me not—perchance you mock me. Now list to what I say.— You really must not leave us thus!
Mep. (to Martha). Ah, chide me not, if my wanderings I resume. Suspect me not; to roam I am compelled! Need I attest how gladly I remain. I hear but thee alone.
(Night comes on.)
Mar. (to Faust). It grows dark,—you must away.
Faust (embracing her). My loved one!
Mar. Ah! no more! (Escapes.)
Faust. Ah, cruel one, would'st fly? (Pursuing her.)
Mep. (aside, whilst Martha angrily turns her back to him). The matter's getting serious, I must away.
(Conceals himself behind a tree.)
Mart. (aside). What's to be done? he's gone! What ho, good sir! (Retires.)