FAUST
Thou angel, fear it not!
Here is a phial: in her drink
But three drops of it measure,
And deepest sleep will on her senses sink.
MARGARET
What would I not, to give thee pleasure?
It will not harm her, when one tries it?
FAUST
If ’twould, my love, would I advise it?
MARGARET
Ah, dearest man, if but thy face I see,
I know not what compels me to thy will:
So much have I already done for thee,
That scarcely more is left me to fulfil.
(Enter MEPHISTOPHELES.) [Exit.
MEPHISTOPHELES