The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus quotes

Why, Faustus, hast thou not attained that end? Is not thy common talk found Aphorisms? Are not thy bills hung up as monuments, Whereby whole cities have escaped the plague, And thousand desperate maladies been eased?

Yet art thou still but Faustus and a man.

Couldst thou make men to live eternally, Or, being dead, raise them to life again, Then this profession were to be esteemed. Physic, farewell.—Where is Justinian?

Si peccasse negamus fallimur et nulla est in nobis veritas; 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.

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!

I’ll have them fly to India for gold, Ransack the ocean for orient pearl, And search all corners of the newfound world For pleasant fruits and princely delicates; I’ll have them read me strange philosophy, And tell the secrets of all foreign kings;

I’ll have them wall all Germany with brass,

And make swift Rhine circle fair Wertenberg; I’ll have them fill the public schools with silk, Wherewith the students shall be bravely clad;

for my head But ruminates on necromantic skill. Philosophy is odious and obscure, Both law and physic are for petty wits; Divinity is basest of the three, Unpleasant, harsh, contemptible, and vile:

’Tis magic, magic, that hath ravished me.

Then, gentle friends, aid me in this attempt;

I charge thee to return, and change thy shape; Thou art too ugly to attend on me. Go, and return an old Franciscan friar;

That holy shape becomes a devil best.

I see there’s virtue in my heavenly words; Who would not be proficient in this art? How pliant is this Mephistopheles, Full of obedience and humility! Such is the force of magic and my spells:

How comes it then that thou art out of hell?

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.

How! My soul to the Devil for a shoulder of mutton, though ’twere blood-raw! Not so, good friend.

By’r lady, I had need have it well roasted and good sauce to it, if I pay so dear.

Well, wilt thou serve us, and I’ll make thee go like Qui mihi discipulus?

Now, Faustus, must Thou needs be damned, and canst thou not be saved: What boots it then to think of God or Heaven? Away with such vain fancies, and despair:

Despair in God, and trust in Belzebub;

Now go not backward; no, Faustus, be resolute: Why waver’st thou? O, something soundeth in mine ears “Abjure this magic, turn to God again!” Ay, and Faustus will turn to God again.

Despair in God, and trust in Belzebub; Now go not backward; no, Faustus, be resolute: Why waver’st thou? O, something soundeth in mine ears “Abjure this magic, turn to God again!” Ay, and Faustus will turn to God again. To God?—he loves thee not—

The god thou serv’st is thine own appetite,

Wherein is fixed the love of Belzebub; To him I’ll build an altar and a church, And offer lukewarm blood of newborn babes.

Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed In one self place; for where we are is hell, And where hell is, there must we ever be: And, to conclude, when all the world dissolves, And every creature shall be purified,

All places shall be hell that are not Heaven.

Come, I think hell’s a fable.

Within the bowels of these elements, Where we are tortured and remain forever:

Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed

In one self place; for where we are is hell, And where hell is, there must we ever be: And, to conclude, when all the world dissolves, And every creature shall be purified, All places shall be hell that are not Heaven.

for where we are is hell, And where hell is, there must we ever be: And, to conclude, when all the world dissolves, And every creature shall be purified, All places shall be hell that are not Heaven.

Come, I think hell’s a fable.

Ay, think so still, till experience change thy mind.

How! now in hell?

Nay, an this be hell, I’ll willingly be damned here;

What? walking, disputing, etc.? But, leaving off this, let me have a wife, The fairest maid in Germany; For I am wanton and lascivious, And cannot live without a wife.

Tut, Faustus,

Marriage is but a ceremonial toy;

If thou lovest me, think no more of it. I’ll cull thee out the fairest courtesans, And bring them every morning to thy bed;

Ay, but Faustus never shall repent.

My heart’s so hardened I cannot repent.

Scarce can I name salvation, faith, or heaven, But fearful echoes thunder in mine ears “Faustus, thou art damned!”

Scarce can I name salvation, faith, or heaven, But fearful echoes thunder in mine ears “Faustus, thou art damned!” Then swords, and knives, Poison, gun, halters, and envenomed steel Are laid before me to despatch myself, And long ere this I should have slain myself,

Had not sweet pleasure conquered deep despair.

Have not I made blind Homer sing to me Of Alexander’s love and Oenon’s death? And hath not he that built the walls of Thebes With ravishing sound of his melodious harp, Made music with my Mephistopheles? Why should I die then, or basely despair?

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

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?

I leapt out of a lion’s mouth when I was scarce half an hour old; and ever since I have run up and down the world with this case of rapiers, wounding myself when I had nobody to fight withal.

I was born in hell; and look to it, for some of you shall be my father.

I am Envy, begotten of a chimney sweeper and an oyster-wife. I cannot read, and therefore wish all books were burnt. I am lean with seeing others eat.

I am Envy, begotten of a chimney sweeper and an oyster-wife. I cannot read, and therefore wish all books were burnt.

I am lean with seeing others eat.

O that there would come a famine through all the world, that all might die, and I live alone! then thou should’st see how fat I would be. But must thou sit and I stand! Come down, with a vengeance!

I am Sloth. I was begotten on a sunny bank, where I have lain ever since; and you have done me great injury to bring me from thence: let me be carried thither again by Gluttony and Lechery.

I’ll not speak another word for a king’s ransom.

What are you, Mistress Minx, the seventh and last?

I’faith, that’s as true as Diana turned me to a stag.

No, sir; but, when Actaeon died, he left the horns for you.

Mephistopheles, begone.

Away, you villain; what, dost think I am a horse-doctor?

What art thou, Faustus, but a man condemned to die?

Thy fatal time doth draw to final end; Despair doth drive distrust into my thoughts: Confound these passions with a quiet sleep: Tush, Christ did call the thief upon the cross; Then rest thee, Faustus, quiet in conceit. Sleeps in his chair.

… Faustus’ custom is not to deny The just requests of those that wish him well, You shall behold that peerless dame of Greece, No otherways for pomp and majesty Than when Sir Paris crossed the seas with her, And brought the spoils to rich Dardania.

Be silent, then, for danger is in words.

Music sounds, and Helen passeth over the stage.

I go, sweet Faustus, but with heavy cheer, Fearing the ruin of thy hopeless soul.

Accursed Faustus, where is mercy now?

I do repent; and yet I do despair: Hell strives with grace for conquest in my breast: What shall I do to shun the snares of death?

Accursed Faustus, where is mercy now?

I do repent; and yet I do despair:

Hell strives with grace for conquest in my breast: What shall I do to shun the snares of death?

Accursed Faustus, where is mercy now? I do repent; and yet I do despair:

Hell strives with grace for conquest in my breast:

What shall I do to shun the snares of death?

Was this the face that launched a thousand ships And burnt the topless towers of Ilium? Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss. Kisses her.

Her lips suck forth my soul; see, where it flies!

— Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again. Here will I dwell, for Heaven is in these lips, And all is dross that is not Helena. I will be Paris, and for love of thee, Instead of Troy, shall Wertenberg be sacked:

Was this the face that launched a thousand ships And burnt the topless towers of Ilium? Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss. Kisses her. Her lips suck forth my soul; see, where it flies!— Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again.

Here will I dwell, for Heaven is in these lips,

And all is dross that is not Helena. I will be Paris, and for love of thee, Instead of Troy, shall Wertenberg be sacked: And I will combat with weak Menelaus, And wear thy colours on my plumed crest:

Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss. Kisses her. Her lips suck forth my soul; see, where it flies!— Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again. Here will I dwell, for Heaven is in these lips,

And all is dross that is not Helena.

I will be Paris, and for love of thee, Instead of Troy, shall Wertenberg be sacked: And I will combat with weak Menelaus, And wear thy colours on my plumed crest:

And I will combat with weak Menelaus, And wear thy colours on my plumed crest: Yea, I will wound Achilles in the heel, And then return to Helen for a kiss.

Oh, thou art fairer than the evening air

Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars; Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter When he appeared to hapless Semele: More lovely than the monarch of the sky In wanton Arethusa’s azured arms: And none but thou shalt be my paramour!

Was this the face that launched a thousand ships And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?

Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.

Kisses her. Her lips suck forth my soul; see, where it flies!— Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again. Here will I dwell, for Heaven is in these lips, And all is dross that is not Helena.

Ah, Faustus, Now hast thou but one bare hour to live, And then thou must be damned perpetually! Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of Heaven,

That time may cease, and midnight never come;

Fair Nature’s eye, rise, rise again and make Perpetual day; or let this hour be but A year, a month, a week, a natural day, That Faustus may repent and save his soul! O lente, lente, currite noctis equi!

Ah, Faustus, Now hast thou but one bare hour to live, And then thou must be damned perpetually!

Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of Heaven,

That time may cease, and midnight never come; Fair Nature’s eye, rise, rise again and make Perpetual day; or let this hour be but A year, a month, a week, a natural day, That Faustus may repent and save his soul!

My God! my God! look not so fierce on me! Adders and serpents, let me breathe a while! Ugly hell, gape not! come not, Lucifer! I’ll burn my books!—Ah, Mephistopheles!

Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight,

And burned is Apollo’s laurel-bough, That sometime grew within this learned man. Faustus is gone;