Margaret. This weighs on me so sore,
That when we meet, and he is by me,
I feel, as if I loved thee now no more.
Nor could I ever pray, if he were nigh me,
That eats the very heart in me;
Henry, it must be so with thee.
Faust. 'Tis an antipathy of thine!
Margaret. Farewell!
Faust. Ah, can I ne'er recline One little hour upon thy bosom, pressing My heart to thine and all my soul confessing?
Margaret. Ah, if my chamber were alone,
This night the bolt should give thee free admission;
But mother wakes at every tone,
And if she had the least suspicion,
Heavens! I should die upon the spot!
Faust. Thou angel, need of that there's not.
Here is a flask! Three drops alone
Mix with her drink, and nature
Into a deep and pleasant sleep is thrown.
Margaret. Refuse thee, what can I, poor creature? I hope, of course, it will not harm her!
Faust. Would I advise it then, my charmer?
Margaret. Best man, when thou dost look at me, I know not what, moves me to do thy will; I have already done so much for thee, Scarce any thing seems left me to fulfil. [Exit.]
Enter_ MEPHISTOPHELES.