And now they say I murdered the sweet child,
And never more shall I be glad again.
They sing songs on me, too!
A wicked thing to do!
’Tis the refrain
Of a grim old melody:
Who taught them that its words were meant for me?
Faust. [throwing himself down]
Here, at thy feet, behold who loves thee fall,
To strike thy shackles, and to break thy thrall!