The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus

Reads.

Not marching now in fields of Thrasymene, Where Mars did mate the Carthaginians; Nor sporting in the dalliance of love, In courts of kings where state is overturned; Nor in the pomp of proud audacious deeds, Intends our Muse to vaunt her heavenly verse: Only this, gentlemen⁠—we must perform The form of Faustus’ fortunes, good or bad: To patient judgments we appeal our plaud, And speak for Faustus in his infancy. Now is he born, his parents base of stock, In Germany, within a town called Rhodes; Of riper years to Wertenberg he went, Whereas his kinsmen chiefly brought him up. So soon he profits in divinity, The fruitful plot of scholarism graced, That shortly he was graced with doctor’s name, Excelling all whose sweet delight disputes In heavenly matters of theology; Till swollen with cunning of a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount above his reach, And, melting, heavens conspired his overthrow; For, falling to a devilish exercise, And glutted now with learning’s golden gifts, He surfeits upon cursed necromancy; Nothing so sweet as magic is to him, Which he prefers before his chiefest bliss. And this the man that in his study sits!

Exit.

If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and there’s no truth in us. Why then, belike we must sin, and so consequently die.

Ay, we must die an everlasting death. What doctrine call you this, Che sera, sera, What will be shall be? Divinity, adieu! These metaphysics of magicians And necromantic books are heavenly: Lines, circles, scenes, letters, and characters; Ay, these are those that Faustus most desires. O, what a world of profit and delight, Of power, of honour, of omnipotence Is promised to the studious artisan! All things that move between the quiet poles Shall be at my command: emperors and kings Are but obeyed in their several provinces, Nor can they raise the wind or rend the clouds; But his dominion that exceeds in this Stretcheth as far as doth the mind of man, A sound magician is a mighty god: Here, Faustus, tire thy brains to gain a deity. Wagner!

Mephistopheles

Arch-regent and commander of all spirits.

Faustus

Was not that Lucifer an angel once?

Mephistopheles

Yes, Faustus, and most dearly loved of God.

Faustus

How comes it, then, that he is Prince of devils?

Mephistopheles

O, by aspiring pride and insolence; For which God threw him from the face of Heaven.

Faustus

And what are you that live with Lucifer?

Mephistopheles

Unhappy spirits that fell with Lucifer, Conspired against our God with Lucifer, And are forever damned with Lucifer.

Faustus

Where are you damned?

Mephistopheles

In hell.

Faustus

How comes it then that thou art out of hell?

Mephistopheles

Why this is hell, nor am I out of it: Think’st thou that I who saw the face of God, And tasted the eternal joys of Heaven, Am not tormented with ten thousand hells, In being deprived of everlasting bliss? O Faustus! leave these frivolous demands, Which strike a terror to my fainting soul.

Faustus

What, is great Mephistopheles so passionate For being deprived of the joys of Heaven? Learn thou of Faustus manly fortitude, And scorn those joys thou never shalt possess. Go bear these tidings to great Lucifer: Seeing Faustus hath incurred eternal death By desperate thoughts against Jove’s deity, Say, he surrenders up to him his soul, So he will spare him four and twenty years, Letting him live in all voluptuousness; Having thee ever to attend on me; To give me whatsoever I shall ask, To tell me whatsoever I demand, To slay mine enemies, and aid my friends, And always be obedient to my will. Go and return to mighty Lucifer, And meet me in my study at midnight, And then resolve me of thy master’s mind.

Mephistopheles

I will, Faustus.

Exit.

Faustus

Faustus

Ay, Mephistopheles, I give it thee.

Mephistopheles

Then, Faustus, stab thine arm courageously, And bind thy soul, that at some certain day Great Lucifer may claim it as his own; And then be thou as great as Lucifer.

Faustus

Stabbing his arm. Lo, Mephistopheles, for love of thee, I cut mine arm, and with my proper blood Assure my soul to be great Lucifer’s, Chief lord and regent of perpetual night! View here the blood that trickles from mine arm, And let it be propitious for my wish.

Mephistopheles

But, Faustus, thou must Write it in manner of a deed of gift.

Faustus

Ay, so I will. Writes. But, Mephistopheles, My blood congeals, and I can write no more.

Mephistopheles

I’ll fetch thee fire to dissolve it straight.

Exit.

Faustus

What might the staying of my blood portend? Is it unwilling I should write this bill? Why streams it not that I may write afresh? Faustus gives to thee his soul. Ah, there it stayed! Why should’st thou not? Is not thy soul shine own? Then write again, Faustus gives to thee his soul.

Reenter Mephistopheles with a chafer of coals.

Mephistopheles

Here’s fire. Come, Faustus, set it on.

Faustus

So, now the blood begins to clear again; Now will I make an end immediately. Writes.

Mephistopheles

O what will not I do to obtain his soul. Aside.

Faustus

Consummatum est; this bill is ended, And Faustus hath bequeathed his soul to Lucifer But what is this inscription on mine arm? Homo, fuge! Whither should I fly?

Lucifer

Do so, and we will highly gratify thee. Faustus, we are come from hell to show thee some pastime: sit down, and thou shalt see all the Seven Deadly Sins appear in their proper shapes.

Faustus

That sight will be as pleasing unto me, As Paradise was to Adam, the first day Of his creation.

Lucifer

Talk not of Paradise nor creation; but mark this show: talk of the Devil, and nothing else: come away!

Enter the Seven Deadly Sins.

Now, Faustus, examine them of their several names and dispositions.

Faustus

What art thou⁠—the first?

Pride

I am Pride. I disdain to have any parents. I am like to Ovid’s flea: I can creep into every corner of a wench; sometimes, like a periwig, I sit upon her brow; or like a fan of feathers, I kiss her lips; indeed I do⁠—what do I not? But, fie, what a scent is here! I’ll not speak another word, except the ground were perfumed, and covered with cloth of arras.

Faustus

What art thou⁠—the second?

Covetousness

I am Covetousness, begotten of an old churl in an old leathern bag; and might I have my wish I would desire that this house and all the people in it were turned to gold, that I might lock you up in my good chest: O, my sweet gold!

Faustus

What art thou⁠—the third?

Wrath

I am Wrath. I had neither father nor mother: I leapt out of a lion’s mouth when I was scarce half an hour old; and ever

Mephistopheles charms him.

Mephistopheles

So, Faustus; now Do what thou wilt, thou shalt not be discerned.

Sound a sonnet. Enter the Pope and the Cardinal of Lorrain to the banquet, with Friars attending.

Pope

My Lord of Lorrain, wilt please you draw near?

Faustus

Fall to, and the devil choke you an you spare!

Pope

How now! Who’s that which spake?⁠—Friars, look about.

First Friar

Here’s nobody, if it like your Holiness.

Pope

My lord, here is a dainty dish was sent me from the Bishop Milan.

Faustus

I thank you, sir. Snatches the dish.

Pope

How now! Who’s that which snatched the meat from me? Will no man look? My lord, this dish was sent me from the Cardinal of Florence.

Faustus

You say true; I’ll ha’t. Snatches the dish.

Pope

What, again! My lord, I’ll drink to your grace.

Faustus

I’ll pledge your grace. Snatches the cup.

Cardinal of Lorrain

My lord, it may be some ghost, newly crept out of purgatory, come to beg a pardon of your Holiness.

Pope

It may be so. Friars, prepare a dirge to lay the fury of this ghost. Once again, my lord, fall to. The Pope crosses himself.

Faustus

What, are you crossing of yourself? Well, use that trick no more I would advise you.

The Pope crosses himself again.

Well, there’s the second time. Aware the third; I give you fair warning.

The Pope crosses himself again, and Faustus hits him a box of the ear; and they all run away.