Throw her in charity one little flower
Out of the boundless garden of thy heart,
That she may go rejoicing on her way.
Faus. Thou art, indeed, no fitting mate for me—
Thou, glorious in the sheen of innocence. (She covers her eyes.)
I, devil-taught in all unholy art!
Oh, Gretchen, dearly loving—dearly loved—
Wronged beyond all repair, yet all-forgiving,
The simple utterance of thy trusting heart
Is terrible to my unhallowed soul