Faust.  Up they go—­down they go—­wheel about, reel about.

Mephistopheles.  A witches’-crew.

Faust.  They’re strewing and vowing.

Mephistopheles.  Pass on!  Pass on!

PRISON.

FAUST [with a bunch of keys and a lamp, before an iron door]
A long unwonted chill comes o’er me, I feel the whole great load of human woe. 
Within this clammy wall that frowns before me
Lies one whom blinded love, not guilt, brought low! 
Thou lingerest, in hope to grow bolder! 
Thou fearest again to behold her! 
On!  Thy shrinking slowly hastens the blow!
[He grasps the key.  Singing from within.]
My mother, the harlot,
That strung me up! 
My father, the varlet,
That ate me up! 
My sister small,
She gathered up all
The bones that day,
And in a cool place did lay;
Then I woke, a sweet bird, at a magic call;
Fly away, fly away!

Faust [unlocking].  She little dreams, her lover is so near,
The clanking chains, the rustling straw can hear;
              [He enters.]

Margaret [burying herself in the bed].  Woe! woe!  They come.  O death of bitterness!

Faust [softly].  Hush! hush!  I come to free thee; thou art dreaming.

Margaret [prostrating herself before him].  Art thou a man, then feel for my distress.

Faust.  Thou’lt wake the guards with thy loud screaming!
       [He seizes the chains to tin lock them.]

Margaret [on her knees].  Headsman, who’s given thee this right
O’er me, this power! 
Thou com’st for me at dead of night;
In pity spare me, one short hour! 
Wilt’t not be time when Matin bell has rung?
            [She stands up.]
Ah, I am yet so young, so young! 
And death pursuing! 
Fair was I too, and that was my undoing. 
My love was near, far is he now! 
Tom is the wreath, the scattered flowers lie low. 
Take not such violent hold of me! 
Spare me! what harm have I done to thee? 
Let me not in vain implore thee. 
Thou ne’er till now sawft her who lies before thee!

Faust.  O sorrow worse than death is o’er me!

Margaret.  Now I am wholly in thy power. 
But first I’d nurse my child—­do not prevent me. 
I hugged it through the black night hour;
They took it from me to torment me,
And now they say I killed the pretty flower. 
I shall never be happy again, I know. 
They sing vile songs at me!  ’Tis bad in them to do it! 
There’s an old tale that ends just so,
Who gave that meaning to it?

Faust [prostrates himself].  A lover at thy feet is bending, Thy bonds of misery would be rending.

Margaret [flings herself beside him]. 
O let us kneel, the saints for aid invoking! 
See! ’neath the threshold smoking,
Fire-breathing,
Hell is seething! 
There prowling,
And grim under cover,
Satan is howling!