It hath no place amid the God-grown flowers—
Truth, steadfast honour, simple manliness—
That blossom in that goodly garden-land.
Let thy love die, brave heart; I am unworthy!
Gott. (horror-struck). Gretchen! what sayest thou?
Unworthy? And of what? Of such as I?
(After a pause.) God help me if I read thy words aright!
Thou, Gretchen, thou? No, no—it could not be!
Thou, Gretchen? Oh, mankind is not so base!
Gret. Oh, Gottfried, pity me—my heart is broken!