FAUST
A look from thee, a word, more entertains
Than all the lore of wisest brains.
(He kisses her hand.)
MARGARET
Don’t incommode yourself! How could you
ever kiss it!
It is so ugly, rough to see!
What work I do,—how hard and steady is
it!
Mother is much too close with me.
[They pass.
MARTHA
And you, Sir, travel always, do you not?
MEPHISTOPHELES
Alas, that trade and duty us so harry!
With what a pang one leaves so many a spot,
And dares not even now and then to tarry!
MARTHA
In young, wild years it suits your ways,
This round and round the world in freedom sweeping;
But then come on the evil days,
And so, as bachelor, into his grave a-creeping,
None ever found a thing to praise.
MEPHISTOPHELES
I dread to see how such a fate advances.
MARTHA
Then, worthy Sir, improve betimes your chances!
[They pass.
MARGARET
Yes, out of sight is out of mind!
Your courtesy an easy grace is;
But you have friends in other places,
And sensibler than I, you’ll find.
FAUST
Trust me, dear heart! what men call sensible
Is oft mere vanity and narrowness.
MARGARET
How so?
FAUST
Ah, that simplicity and innocence ne’er know
Themselves, their holy value, and their spell!
That meekness, lowliness, the highest graces
Which Nature portions out so lovingly—
MARGARET
So you but think a moment’s space on me,
All times I’ll have to think on you, all places!
FAUST
No doubt you’re much alone?
MARGARET
Yes, for our household small has grown,
Yet must be cared for, you will own.
We have no maid: I do the knitting, sewing, sweeping,
The cooking, early work and late, in fact;
And mother, in her notions of housekeeping,
Is so exact!
Not that she needs so much to keep expenses down:
We, more than others, might take comfort, rather:
A nice estate was left us by my father,
A house, a little garden near the town.
But now my days have less of noise and hurry;
My brother is a soldier,
My little sister’s dead.
True, with the child a troubled life I led,
Yet I would take again, and willing, all the worry,
So very dear was she.