The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus by Christopher Marlowe (ebook reader for comics txt) 📕

and he has a great charge, neither wife nor child.

FAUSTUS. Well, come, give me your money [HORSE-COURSER gives

FAUSTUS the money]: my boy will deliver him to you. But I must

tell you one thing before you have him; ride him not into the

water, at any hand.

HORSE-COURSER. Why, sir, will he not drink of all waters?

FAUSTUS. O, yes, he will drink of all waters; but ride him not

into the water: ride him over hedge or ditch, or where thou wilt,

but not into the water.

HORSE-COURSER. Well, sir.—Now am I made man for ever: I’ll not

leave my horse for forty:<141> if he had but the quality of

hey-ding-ding, hey-ding-ding, I’d make a brave living on him:

he has a buttock as slick as an eel [Aside].—Well, God b’wi’ye,

sir: your boy will deliver him me: but, hark you, sir; if my horse

be sick or ill at ease, if I bring his water to you, you’ll tell

me what it is?

FAUSTUS. Away, you villain! what, dost think I am a horse-doctor?

What art thou, Faustus, but a man condemn’d to die?

Thy fatal time doth draw to final end;

Despair doth drive distrust into<142> 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.

HORSE-COURSER. Alas, alas! Doctor Fustian, quoth a? mass, Doctor

Lopus<143> was never such a doctor: has given me a purgation, has

purged me of forty dollars; I shall never see them more. But yet,

like an ass as I was, I would not be ruled by him, for he bade me

I should ride him into no water: now I, thinking my horse had had

some rare quality that he would not have had me know of,<144> I,

like a venturous youth, rid him into the deep pond at the town’s

end. I was no sooner in the middle of the pond, but my horse

vanished away, and I sat upon a bottle of hay, never so near

drowning in my life. But I’ll seek out my doctor, and have my

forty dollars again, or I’ll make it the dearest horse!—O,

yonder is his snipper-snapper.—Do you hear? you, hey-pass,<145>

where’s your master?

MEPHIST. Why, sir, what would you? you cannot speak with him.

HORSE-COURSER. But I will speak with him.

MEPHIST. Why, he’s fast asleep: come some other time.

HORSE-COURSER. I’ll speak with him now, or I’ll break his

glass-windows about his ears.

MEPHIST. I tell thee, he has not slept this eight nights.

HORSE-COURSER. An he have not slept this eight weeks, I’ll

speak with him.

MEPHIST. See, where he is, fast asleep.

HORSE-COURSER. Ay, this is he.—God save you, Master Doctor,

Master Doctor, Master Doctor Fustian! forty dollars, forty dollars

for a bottle of hay!

MEPHIST. Why, thou seest he hears thee not.

HORSE-COURSER. So-ho, ho! so-ho, ho! [Hollows in his ear.] No,

will you not wake? I’ll make you wake ere I go. [Pulls FAUSTUS

by the leg, and pulls it away.] Alas, I am undone! what shall

I do?

FAUSTUS. O, my leg, my leg!—Help, Mephistophilis! call the

officers.—My leg, my leg!

MEPHIST. Come, villain, to the constable.

HORSE-COURSER. O Lord, sir, let me go, and I’ll give you forty

dollars more!

MEPHIST. Where be they?

HORSE-COURSER. I have none about me: come to my ostry,<146>

and I’ll give them you.

MEPHIST. Be gone quickly.

FAUSTUS. What, is he gone? farewell he! Faustus has his leg again,

and the Horse-courser, I take it, a bottle of hay for his labour:

well, this trick shall cost him forty dollars more.

How now, Wagner! what’s the news with thee?

WAGNER. Sir, the Duke of Vanholt doth earnestly entreat your

company.

FAUSTUS. The Duke of Vanholt! an honourable gentleman, to whom

I must be no niggard of my cunning.<147>—Come, Mephistophilis,

let’s away to him.

DUKE. Believe me, Master Doctor, this merriment hath much pleased

me.

FAUSTUS. My gracious lord, I am glad it contents you so well.

—But it may be, madam, you take no delight in this. I have heard

that great-bellied women do long for some dainties or other: what

is it, madam? tell me, and you shall have it.

DUCHESS. Thanks, good Master Doctor: and, for I see your courteous

intent to pleasure me, I will not hide from you the thing my heart

desires; and, were it now summer, as it is January and the dead

time of the winter, I would desire no better meat than a dish

of ripe grapes.

FAUSTUS. Alas, madam, that’s nothing!—Mephistophilis, be gone.

[Exit MEPHISTOPHILIS.] Were it a greater thing than this, so it

would content you, you should have it.

Here they be, madam: wilt please you taste on them?

DUKE. Believe me, Master Doctor, this makes me wonder above the

rest, that being in the dead time of winter and in the month of

January, how you should come by these grapes.

FAUSTUS. If it like your grace, the year is divided into two

circles over the whole world, that, when it is here winter with

us, in the contrary circle it is summer with them, as in India,

Saba,<149> and farther countries in the east; and by means of a

swift spirit that I have, I had them brought hither, as you see.

—How do you like them, madam? be they good?

DUCHESS. Believe me, Master Doctor, they be the best grapes that

e’er I tasted in my life before.

FAUSTUS. I am glad they content you so, madam.

DUKE. Come, madam, let us in, where you must well reward this

learned man for the great kindness he hath shewed to you.

DUCHESS. And so I will, my lord; and, whilst I live, rest

beholding<150> for this courtesy.

FAUSTUS. I humbly thank your grace.

DUKE. Come, Master Doctor, follow us, and receive your reward.

WAGNER. I think my master means to die shortly,

For he hath given to me all his goods:<152>

And yet, methinks, if that death were near,

He would not banquet, and carouse, and swill

Amongst the students, as even now he doth,

Who are at supper with such belly-cheer

As Wagner ne’er beheld in all his life.

See, where they come! belike the feast is ended.

FIRST SCHOLAR. Master Doctor Faustus, since our conference about

fair ladies, which was the beautifulest in all the world, we have

determined with ourselves that Helen of Greece was the admirablest

lady that ever lived: therefore, Master Doctor, if you will do us

that favour, as to let us see that peerless dame of Greece, whom

all the world admires for majesty, we should think ourselves much

beholding unto you.

FAUSTUS. Gentlemen,

For that I know your friendship is unfeign’d,

And 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 cross’d the seas with her,

And brought the spoils to rich Dardania.

Be silent, then, for danger is in words.

SECOND SCHOLAR. Too simple is my wit to tell her praise,

Whom all the world admires for majesty.

THIRD SCHOLAR. No marvel though the angry Greeks pursu’d

With ten years’ war the rape of such a queen,

Whose heavenly beauty passeth all compare.

FIRST SCHOLAR. Since we have seen the pride of Nature’s works,

And only paragon of excellence,

Let us depart; and for this glorious deed

Happy and blest be Faustus evermore!

FAUSTUS. Gentlemen, farewell: the same I wish to you.

OLD MAN. Ah, Doctor Faustus, that I might prevail

To guide thy steps unto the way of life,

By which sweet path thou mayst attain the goal

That shall conduct thee to celestial rest!

Break heart, drop blood, and mingle it with tears,

Tears falling from repentant heaviness

Of thy most vile<155> and loathsome filthiness,

The stench whereof corrupts the inward soul

With such flagitious crimes of heinous sin<156>

As no commiseration may expel,

But mercy, Faustus, of thy Saviour sweet,

Whose blood alone must wash away thy guilt.

FAUSTUS. Where art thou, Faustus? wretch, what hast thou done?

Damn’d art thou, Faustus, damn’d; despair and die!

Hell calls for right, and with a roaring voice

Says, “Faustus, come; thine hour is almost<157> come;”

And Faustus now<158> will come to do thee right.

OLD MAN. Ah, stay, good Faustus, stay thy desperate steps!

I see an angel hovers o’er thy head,

And, with a vial full of precious grace,

Offers to pour the same into thy soul:

Then call for mercy, and avoid despair.

FAUSTUS. Ah, my sweet friend, I feel

Thy words to comfort my distressed soul!

Leave me a while to ponder on my sins.

OLD MAN. I go, sweet Faustus; but with heavy cheer,

Fearing the ruin of thy hopeless soul.

FAUSTUS. 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?

MEPHIST. Thou traitor, Faustus, I arrest thy soul

For disobedience to my sovereign lord:

Revolt, or I’ll in piece-meal tear thy flesh.

FAUSTUS. Sweet Mephistophilis, entreat thy lord

To pardon my unjust presumption,

And with my blood again I will confirm

My former vow I made to Lucifer.

MEPHIST. Do it, then, quickly,<159> with unfeigned heart,

Lest greater danger do attend thy drift.

FAUSTUS. Torment, sweet friend, that base and crooked age,

That durst dissuade me from thy Lucifer,

With greatest torments that our hell affords.

MEPHIST. His faith is great; I cannot touch his soul;

But what I may afflict his body with

I will attempt, which is but little worth.

FAUSTUS. One thing, good servant,<160> let me crave of thee,

To glut the longing of my heart’s desire,—

That I might have unto my paramour

That heavenly Helen which I saw of late,

Whose sweet embracings may extinguish clean

Those<161> thoughts that do dissuade me from my vow,

And keep mine oath I made to Lucifer.

MEPHIST. Faustus, this,<162> or what else thou shalt desire,

Shall be perform’d in twinkling of an eye.

FAUSTUS. Was this the face that launch’d a thousand ships,

And burnt the topless<163> towers of Ilium—

Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.—

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<164> 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 sack’d;

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.

O, thou art fairer than the evening air

Clad in the beauty of a