Faust. Go! get thee hence!
Mep. The morn appears, black night is on the wing. Quickly prevail upon Marguerite to follow thee. The jailer soundly sleeps—here is the key, Thine own hand now can ope the door.
Faust. Good! Get thee gone!
Mep. Be sure thou tarry not! I will keep watch without.
(Exit.)
Faust. With grief my heart is wrung! Oh, torture! oh, source of agony And remorse eternal! Behold her there The good, the beauteous girl, Cast like a criminal Into this vile dungeon; Grief must her reason have disturbed, For, with her own hand, alas! Her child she slew! Oh, Marguerite!
Mar. (waking). His voice did sure Unto my heart resound.
(Rises.)
Faust. Marguerite!
Mar. At that glad sound it wildly throbs again Amid the mocking laugh of demons.