“Old Man. O gentle Faustus, leave this damned art,
This magic, that will charm thy soul to hell,
And quite bereave thee of salvation!
Though thou hast now offended like a man,
Do not persever in it like a devil.
Yet, yet thou hast an amiable soul,
If sm by custom grow not into nature;
Then, Faustus, will repentance come too late;
Then thou art banish'd from the sight of Heaven:
No mortal can express the pains of hell.
It may be, this my exhortation
Seems harsh and all unpleasant: let it not,
For, gentle son, I speak it not in wrath,
Or envy of thee, but in tender love,
And pity of thy future misery;
And so have hope that this my kind rebuke,
Checking thy body, may amend thy soul.”
Ah, Doctor Faustus, that I might prevail To guide thy steps unto the way
of life,
By which sweet path thou may'st attain the goal
That shalt conduct thee to celestial rest!
Break heart, drop blood, and mingle it with tears,
Tears falling from repentant heaviness
Of thy most vild and loathsome filthiness,
The stench whereof corrupts the inward soul
With such flagitious crimes of heinous sins
As no commiseration may expel,
But Mercy, Faustus, of thy Saviour sweet,
Whose blood alone must wash away thy guilt.
