Faust. Yes, my child! And be this floral word An oracle to thee. He loves thee! Knowest thou all it mean? He loves thee! [Clasping both her hands.]
Margaret. What thrill is this!
Faust. O, shudder not! This look of mine.
This pressure of the hand shall tell thee
What cannot be expressed:
Give thyself up at once and feel a rapture,
An ecstasy never to end!
Never!—It's end were nothing but blank despair.
No, unending! unending!
[MARGARET presses his hands, extricates herself, and runs away.
He stands a moment in thought, then follows her].
Martha [coming]. The night falls fast.
Mephistopheles. Ay, and we must away.
Martha. If it were not for one vexation,
I would insist upon your longer stay.
Nobody seems to have no occupation,
No care nor labor,
Except to play the spy upon his neighbor;
And one becomes town-talk, do whatsoe'er they may.
But where's our pair of doves?
Mephistopheles. Flown up the alley yonder. Light summer-birds!
Martha. He seems attached to her.
Mephistopheles. No wonder. And she to him. So goes the world, they say.