MARGARET.

Dearly beloved, if I but look on you
I must obey
I cannot hesitate:
There is a something not to be resisted,
Which overpowers me makes your will
In every thing; and having gone so far
Already, is choice left me?
So much, what is there for

Having given me to refuse?

my guide

Getting a lesson in his creed,

And catechism, from a young woman,

Just now; I hope that it agreed

With you! The girls' anxiety
For sentimental piety

Is soon explained. The man, think they,
Who worships in the good old way,

When his priest bids him kneels and bows,
Is likely to obey his spouse:

This of itself ensures his wife

A quiet, fair and easy life.

The women fancy, and the fact is
Confirmed, or often so, in practice,
That their admirers are most found
Where your religious men abound
Love is almost the same emotion:
The devotee

Isuch is their notion

Thus for the sex feels true devotion,

Courts amorous thoughts and mystic dreaming, Is led by priests, and follows women.

FAUST.

Oh! what a monster must thou be,
To see not, or with scoffing see,
How this poor girl's affections lead
The pious creature thus to plead;
The faith, in which she moves and lives
That which alone salvation gives
So she believes may make her fear
Danger to one whom she holds dear;
Fear for the issue of a strife

Where more, she feels, is risked than life!

MEPHISTOPHELES.

Most sentimental sensualist,

Philosopher at once and beast, Led by the nose by a young flirt!

FAUST.

Abortion spawn of fire and dirt!

MEPHISTOPHELES (scornfully).

-On Physiognomy she also lectures
Profoundly feels, when I am present,
Sensations strange and most unpleasant:
-Suppressed malignity my smile betrays;
I wear a mask, forsooth, I will not raise,
And what it hides she sapiently conjectures,
Something mysteriously allied to evil,
A genius or, perhaps, the very devil.
To-night then.

AT THE WELL.

MARGARET and LIZZY (with pitchers).

LIZZY.

Have you not heard of Hannah's pretty doing?

MARGARET.

No, not a word I've been but little out.

LIZZY.

Kate told it me to-day

there's not a doubt

Of its truth. This comes of airs and impudence: I always said her pride would be her ruin.

What mean you?

MARGARET.

LIZZY.

What I mean all know but you

Why, when she eats and drinks she's feeding two.

Poor thing!

MARGARET.

LIZZY.

Poor thing, indeed! great pity for her;

Why, she was always finding some pretence
To be in company with this adorer

every walk

How she made out a time for private talk!

Would hang upon his arm, and still be seen

For evermore with him, at booth or green.

She thought herself so fine, none could come near her; And then their feastings cakes and wine must cheer

her

After their rambles: then her vanity

About her beauty almost like insanity

And then her meanness think of her insisting

Upon his making handsome presents to her -
Then came soft words, when there were none to listen,
Then all a girl can give she gave her wooer!

The poor, poor thing!

MARGARET.

LIZZY.

And do you pity her?

When we were kept close to our wheels, and when

Our mothers would not suffer us to stir

Abroad at night, or loiter with the men,

Then were they on the seat before the door,

Or in the dark walk lingering evermore;

Now for the stool and white sheet of repentance;

For one, I feel no sorrow at her sentence.

MARGARET.

Poor creature! but, no doubt, he'll marry her.