Have visitors of rank to-day;
For this time I shall bid adieu,
And after dinner do myself the pleasure
To wait upon you, when you’re more at leisure.
Martha. [aloud]
Think, child! of all things in the world the last!
My Gretchen for a lady should have passed!
Margaret.
The gentleman is far too good;
I’m a poor girl—boast neither wealth nor blood.
This dress, these jewels, are not mine.
Mephistopheles.
’Tis not the dress alone that I admire;
She has a mien, a gait, a look so fine,
That speak the lady more than costliest attire.
Martha.
And now your business, sir? I much desire—
Mephistopheles.
Would God I had a better tale to tell!
Small thanks I should receive, I knew it well.
Your husband’s dead—his last fond words I bear.
Martha.
Is dead! the good fond soul! O woe!
My man is dead! flow, sorrow, flow!
Margaret.
Beseech thee, dearest Martha, don’t despair.
Mephistopheles.
Now hear my mournful story to the end.
Margaret.
I would not love a man on earth, to rend
Me thus with grief, when he might hap to die.
Mephistopheles.
Joy hath its sorrow, sorrow hath its joy;
Twin sisters are they, as the proverb saith.
Martha.
Now let me hear the manner of his death.
Mephistopheles.
Where Padua’s sacred turrets rise,
Above the grave of holy Antony,
On consecrated ground thy husband lies,
