All hearts, from farthest South to farthest North,
Proclaim the tale divine,
Each in its proper speech;
Wherefore not I in mine?
Margaret.
When thus you speak it does not seem so bad,
And yet is your condition still most sad:
Unless you are a Christian, all is vain.
Faust.
Sweet love!
Margaret.
Henry, it gives me pain,
More than my lips can speak, to see
Thee joined to such strange company.
Faust.
How so?
Margaret.
The man whom thou hast made thy mate,
Deep in my inmost soul I hate;
Nothing in all my life hath made me smart
So much as his disgusting leer.
His face stabs like a dagger through my heart!
Faust.
Sweet doll! thou hast no cause to fear.
Margaret.
It makes my blood to freeze when he comes near.
To other men I have no lack
Of kindly thoughts; but as I long
To see thy face, I shudder back
From him. That he’s a knave I make no doubt;
May God forgive me, if I do him wrong!
Faust.
Such grim old owls must be; without
Their help the world could not get on, I fear.
Margaret.
With men like him I would have nought to do!
As often as he shows him here,
He looks in at the door with such a scornful leer,
Half angry too;
Whate’er is done, he takes no kindly part;
