Mephistopheles

I stood by his bedside. Something less foul it was than dung; 'Twas straw half rotten; yet, he as a Christian died. And sorely hath remorse his conscience wrung. "Wretch that I was," quoth he, with parting breath, "So to forsake my business and my wife! Ah! the remembrance is my death, Could I but have her pardon in this life! "--

MARTHA (weeping)

Dear soul! I've long forgiven him, indeed!