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 noetis equi! The stars move still, time
runs, the clock will strike, The Devil will come, and Faustus must be
damned. O, 111 leap up to my God! Who pulls me down? See, see where
Christ's blood streams in the firniament!
One drop would save my soul—half a drop: ah. my Christ!
Ah, rend not my heart for naming of my Christ! go Yet will I call on him:
O spare me, Lucifer!— Where is it now? 'tis gone; and see where God
Stretcheth out his arm, and bends his ireful brows! Mountains and hills
come, come and fall on me, And hide me from the heavy wrath of God! No!
no!
Then will I headlong run into the earth;
Earth gape! O no, it will not harbour me!
You stars that reigned at my nativity,
Whose influence hath allotted Death and Hell,
Now draw up Faustus like a foggy mist
Into the entrails of yon labouring cloud,
That when you vomit forth into the air,
My limbs may issue from your smoky mouths.
So that my soul may but ascend to Heaven.
[The clock strikes the half hour.
Ah, half the hour is past! 'twill all be past anon! God!
If thou wilt not have mercy on my soul,
Yet for Christ's sake whose blood hath ransomed me,
Impose some end to my incessant pain;
Let Faustus live in Hell a thousand years—
A hundred thousand, and—at last—be saved!
O, no end is limited to damned souls!
Why wert thou not a creature wanting soul?
Or why is this immortal that thou hast?
Ah, Pythagoras' Metempsychosis! were that true,
This soul should fly from me, and I be chang'd
Unto some brutish beast! all beasts are happy,
For, when they die,
Their souls are soon dissolved in elements
But mine must live, still to be plagued in Hell.
Curst be the parents that engendered me!
No, Faustus: curse thyself: curse Lucifer
That hath deprived thee of the joys of Heaven.
[The dock strikes twelve.
O, it strikes, it strikes! Now, body, turn to air, Or Lucifer will bear
thee quick to Hell.
[Thunder and lightning,
O soul, be chang'd into little water-drops, And fall into the ocean—ne'er
be found.
[Enter Devils.
My God! my God! look not so fierce on me!
Adders and serpents, let me breathe awhile!
Ugly Hell, gape not! come not, Lucifer!
I'll burn my books! —Ah, Mephistophilis!
[Exeunt Devils with FAUSTUS.
Enter CHORUS.
