Faus. My doom is spoken and I bow my head.
So, Gretchen, let it be! At thy just bidding
I go to death in life. There is a tomb
In which a living, loving man may bury
All but his aching heart. I go to it!
Mephisto has entered and overheard this.
Meph. Why, how is this? does not the good work prosper?
Come, come, take heart—’tis but a summer storm—
A day, alone, will bring her to her senses.
Faus. Fiend, I renounce thee! Give me back myself.