The Works of Christopher Marlowe

Dr. Faustus (B Text)

Act: 4 Scene: 1
Martino
What ho, officers, gentlemen!
Hie to the presence to attend the Emperor,
Good Frederick, see the rooms be voided straight;
His majesty is coming to the hall.
Go back and see the state in readiness.
Martino
O yes, and with him comes the German conjuror,
The learned Faustus, fame of Wittenberg,
The wonder of the world for magic art,
And he intends to show great Carolus,
The race of all his stout progenitors,
And bring in presence of his majesty,
The royal shapes and warlike semblances
Of Alexander and his beauteous paramour.
Martino
Fast asleep I warrant you.
He took his rouse with stoups of Rhennish wine
So kindly yesternight to Bruno's health,
That all this day the sluggard keeps his bed.
Martino
What hoe, Benvolio!
Enter Benvolio above at a window, in his nightcap, buttoning.
Martino
Speak softly, sir, lest the devil hear you,
For Faustus at the court is late arrived,
And at his heels a thousand furies wait
To accomplish whatsoever the Doctor please.
Martino
Come leave thy chamber first, and thou shalt see
This conjuror perform such rare exploits
Before the Pope and royal Emperor,
As never yet was seen in Germany.
Martino
Wilt thou stand in thy window and see it then?
Martino
The Emperor is at hand; who comes to see
What wonders by black spells may compass be.
Act: 4 Scene: 3
Martino
Nay, sweet Benvolio, let us sway thy thoughts
From this attempt against the conjuror.
Martino
Where shall we place ourselves, Benvolio?
Martino
See, see, he comes.
Martino
Strike with a willing hand; his head is off.
Martino
Was this that damned head, whose heart conspired
Benvolio's shame before the Emperor?
Martino
What use shall we put his beard to?
Martino
An excellent policy. And now, sirs, having divided
him, what shall the body do?
Act: 4 Scene: 4
Martino
What ho, Benvolio.
Martino
Dear Frederick, here,
Half smothered in a lake of mud and dirt,
Through which the Furies dragged me by the heels.
Martino
O misery! How now, Benvolio?
Martino
Nay, fear not, man; we have no power to kill.
Martino
Nay, chafe not man; we all are sped.
Martino
What shall we then do, dear Benvolio?