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 sin by custom grow not into nature;
Then,
Faustus, will
repentance come too late,
Then thou art banished 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.
