ey are doing and brewing.

_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 b