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 that end.
A greater subject fitteth Faustus' wit.
Bid economy farewell, and Galen
come.
Be a physician,
Faustus;
heap
up gold
And be eternized
for some wondrous cure.
Summum bonum, medicinae
sanitas:
The end of physic
is our body's health:
Why,
Faustus, hast thou
not attained that end?
Are not thy bills
hung up as monuments,
Whereby whole cities
have
escaped the plague
And thousand desperate maladies been
cured?
Yet art thou still but Faustus
and a man.
Could'st thou make
men 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,
AIter rem, alter valorem
rei, etc.
A petty case of paltry legacies!
Exhaereditare filium non potest pater,
nisi--
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 aad
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 is 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,
letters, characters.
Ay, these
are those that Faustus most desires.
O what a world of profit and delight,
Of power, of honour, and
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,
But his dominion that exceeds in this,
Stretcheth as far as
doth the mind of man:
A sound magician
is a demi-god.
Here, tire my brains to get a Deity. Enter Wagner.
Wagner,
commend me to my dearest
friends,
The German
Valdes and Cornelius.
Request them earnestly to visit me.
