Faus. (passionately).
Strike, Gottfried, strike! In the good days gone by
Thy loving hand was ever on the stretch
To aid me with a hundred offices,
The least of which should knit my heart to thine
As brother’s heart to brother. Crown thy work
Enter Gretchen; she stands horrified.
With this the kindliest of thy kindly deeds! (Tearing open his gown.)
Comrade in arms—brother in all but blood—
Here is my heart—kill the accursed thing,