Settle thy studies, Faustus, and begin To sound the depth of that thou
wilt profess;
Having commenced be a Divine in show,
Yet level at the end of every Art,
And live and die in Aristotle's works.
Sweet Analytics, 'tis thou hast ravished me,
Bene disserere est finis logices.
Is to dispute well Logic's chiefest end?
Affords this Art no greater miracle?
Then read no more, thou hast attained the end;
A greater subject fitteth Faustus' wit:
Bid on cat me on farewell, Galen come,
Seeing Ubi desinit Philosophus ibi incipit Medicus;
Be a physician, Faustus, heap up gold,
And be eternised for some wondrous cure.
Summum bonum medicines sanitas,
The end of physic is our body's health.
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 man to live eternally,
Or, being dead, raise them to life again,
Then this profession were to be esteemed.
Physic, farewell.—Where is Justinian?
Si una eademque res legatur duobus, alter rem, alter valorem ret,
&c.
A pretty case of paltry legacies!
Exhareditare filium non potest pater nisi, &f.
Such is the subject of the Institute
And universal Body of the Law.
This study fits a mercenary drudge,
Who aims at nothing but external trash;
Too servile and illiberal for me.
When all is done Divinity is best;
Jerome's Bible, Faustus, view it well.
Stipendium peccati mors est. Ha! Stipendium, &c.
The reward of sin is death. That's hard.
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,
“And sooner may a gulling weather-spie
By drawing forth heaven's sceanes tell certainly.”
(Later eds. of Donne read “scheme.”) 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!
Wagner, commend,” &c.
Enter wagner.
Commend me to my dearest friends,
The German Valdes and Cornelius;
Request them earnestly to visit me.
