Would’st grasp the thunder? ’Tis well that you, poor mortals, have it not to wield! To smash the innocent in pieces is the proper tyrant’s fashion of venting one’s spleen in a dilemma.
Faust.
Bring me to her! She shall be free!
Mephistopheles.
And the danger to which thou exposest thyself! Know that the guilt of blood from thy hand still lies upon the town. Above the spot where the slain fell, avenging Spirits hover and lie in wait for the returning murderer.
Faust.
That too from thee? Murder and death of a world on thee, thou monster! Bring me to her, I say, and deliver her!
Mephistopheles.
I’ll lead thee thither, and what I can do that I will do. Mark me! Have I all power in heaven and on earth? I will cloud the wits of the warder, and thou may’st seize the keys, and bring her out with the hand of a man. I wait for you with the magic horses to ensure your escape. This I can do.
Faust.