The Works of Christopher Marlowe

Dr. Faustus (B Text)


Act: 4 Scene: 1
What a devil ail you two?
What of this?
Has not the Pope enough of conjuring yet?
He was upon the devil's back late enough,
And if he be so far in love with him,
I would he would post with him to Rome again.
Not I.
Ay, and I fall not asleep i'th'mean time.
Well, go you attend the Emperor. I am content
for this once to thrust my head out at a window, for they say,
if a man be drunk overnight, the Devil cannot hurt him in
the morning. If that be true, I have a charm in my head
shall control him as well as the conjuror, I warrant you.

Act: 4 Scene: 2
Blood, he speaks terribly, but for all that, I do not
greatly believe him; he looks as like conjuror as the Pope to a coster-
monger.
Well, Master Doctor, an your devils come not away
quickly, have me asleep presently. Zounds, I could
eat my anger to think I have been such an ass
all this stand gaping after the devil's governor, and
can see nothing.
Ay, ay, and I am content too, and thou bring Alex-
ander and his paramour before the Emperor. I'll be Acte-
on, and turn myself to a stag.
A plague upon you! Let me sleep a while.
The Emperor? Where? O, zounds, my head.
Zounds, Doctor, is this your villainy?
Hold, hold! Zounds, he'll raise up a kennel of devils,
I think anon. Good, my lord, entreat for me. 'Sblood, I am
never able to endure these torments.
Speak well of ye? 'Sblood, and scholars be such
cuckold-makers to clap horns of honest men's heads o'this
order; I'll ne'er trust smooth faces and small ruffs more. But,
an I be not revenged for this, would I might be turned to a
gaping oyster and drink nothing but salt water.

Act: 4 Scene: 3
Away, you love me not to urge me thus,
Shall I let slip so great an injury,
When every servile groom feasts at my wrongs,
And in their rustic gambols proudly say
Benvolio's head was graced with horns to day?
O, may these eyelids never close again
Till with my sword I have that conjuror slain.
If you will aid me in this enterprise,
Then draw your weapons and be resolute.
If not, depart. Here will Benvolio die,
But Faustus' death shall quit my infamy.
Then, gentle Frederick, hie thee to the grove,
And place our servants and our followers
Close in an ambush there behind the trees.
By this (I know) the conjuror is near;
I saw him kneel, and kiss the Emperor's hand,
And take his leave, laden with rich rewards.
Then souldiers boldly fight. If Faustus die,
Take you the wealth; leave us the victory.
My head is lighter than it was by th'horns,
But yet my heart more ponderous then my head,
And pants until I see that conjuror dead.
Here will we stay to bide the first assault.
O, were that damned hell-hound but in place,
Thou soon should'st see me quit my foul disgrace.
Mine be that honour then. Now, sword, strike home.
For horns he gave, I'll have his head anon.
No words. This blow ends all.
Hell take his soul; his body thus must fall.
Break may his heart with gropes. Dear Frederick, see
Thus will I end his griefs immediately.
The devil's dead; the Furies now may laugh.
Ay, that's the head and here the body lies,
Justly rewarded for his villainies.
First, on his head, in quittance of my wrongs,
I'll nail huge forked horns and let them hang
Within the window where he yoked me first,
That all the world may see my just revenge.
We'll sell it to a chimney-sweeper. It will wear out
ten birching brooms, I warrant you.
We'll put out his eyes, and they shall serve for but-
tons to his lips to keep his tongue from catching cold.
Zounds, the devil's alive again!

Act: 4 Scene: 4
Here, what Frederick, ho.
Defend me, heaven. Shall I be haunted still?
My friends transformed thus. O hellish spite! Your
heads are all set with horns.
'Zounds, horns again!
What devil attends this damned magician,
That, spite of spite, our wrongs are doubled?
If we should follow him to work revenge,
He'd join long asses' ears to these huge horns,
And make us laughing stocks to all the world.
I have a castle joining near these woods,
And thither we'll repair and live obscure,
Till time shall alter this our brutish shapes.
Since black disgrace hath thus eclipsed our fame,
We'll rather die with grief, than live with shame.