The Works of Christopher Marlowe

Dr. Faustus (B Text)

Act: 3 Scene: 1
Pope
Cast down our footstool.
Pope
To me and Peter, shalt thou groveling lie,
And crouch before the papal dignity.
Sound trumpets then, for thus SaintPeter's heir,
From Bruno's back, ascends Saint Peter's chair.
A flourish while he ascends.
Thus, as the gods creep on with feet of wool,
Long ere with iron hands they punish men,
So shall our sleeping vengeance now arise,
And smite with death thy hated enterprise.
Lord cardinals of France and Padua,
Go forthwith to our holy consistory,
And read amongst the statutes decretal
What by the holy council held at Trent,
The sacred synod hath decreed for him
That doth assume the papal government,
Without election, and a true consent.
Away, and bring us word with speed.
Pope
Lord Raymond.
Pope
We will depose the Emperor for that deed,
And curse the people that submit to him;
Both he and thou shalt stand excommunicate,
And interdict from churches privilege,
And all society of holy men.
He grows too proud in his authority,
Lifting his lofty head above the clouds,
And like a steeple overpeers the church.
But we'll pull down his haughty insolence,
And as Pope Alexander, our progenitor,
Trod on the neck of German Frederick,
Adding this golden sentence to our praise,
That Peter's heirs should tread on emperors,
And walk upon the dreadful adder's back,
Treading the lion and the dragon down.
And fearless spurn the killing basilisk,
So will we quell that haughty schismatic,
And by authority apostolic
Depose him from his regal government.
Pope
Pope Julius did abuse the Church's rites,
And therefore none of his decrees can stand.
Is not all power on earth bestowed on us?
And therefore though we would we cannot e'er.
Behold this silver belt whereto is fixed
Seven golden seales fast sealed with seven seals,
In token of our seven-fold power from heaven,
To bind or loose, lock fast, condemn, or judge,
Resign, or seale, or what so pleaseth us.
Then he and thou and all the world shall stoop,
Or be assured of our dreadful curse,
To light as heavy as the pains of hell.
Enter Faustus and Mephistophilis, like the Cardinals.
Pope
Welcome, grave Fathers, answer presently,
What have our holy council there decreed
Concerning Bruno and the Emperor,
In quittance of their late conspiracy
Against our state and papal dignity?
Pope
It is enough. Here, take him to your charge,
And bear him straight to Ponto Angelo,
And in the strongest tower enclose him fast.
Tomorrow, sitting in our consistory,
With all our college of grave cardinals,
We will determine of his life or death.
Here, take his triple crown along with you,
And leave it in the Church's treasury.
Make haste again, my good lord cardinals,
And take our blessing apostolic.
Pope
Go presently, and bring a banquet forth,
That we may solemnize Saint Peter's feast,
And with Lord Raymond, King of Hungary,
Drink to our late and happy victory. Exeunt.
Act: 3 Scene: 2
Pope
Welcome, lord cardinals. Come sit down.
Lord Raymond, take your seat; Friars attend,
And see that all things be in readiness,
As best beseems this solemn festival.
Pope
What needs this question? Did I not tell you,
Tomorrow we would sit i'th'consistory,
And there determine of his punishment?
You brought us word even now, it was decreed,
That Bruno and the cursed Emperor
Were by the holy council both condemned
For loathed Lollords, and base schismatics.
Then wherefore would you have me view that book?
Pope
By Peter, you shall die,
Unless you bring them forth immediately.
Hale them to prison, lade their limbs with gyves.
False prelates, for this hateful treachery,
Cursed be your souls to hellish misery.
Pope
Lord Archbishop of Reams, sit down with us.
Pope
Who's that spoke? Friars, look about.
Lord Raymond, pray fall to; I am beholding
to the Bishop of Milan, for this so rare a present.
Pope
How now! Who snatched the meat from me?
Villains, why speak you not?
My good Lord Archbishop, here's a most dainty dish,
Was sent me from a cardinal in France.
Pope
What Lollards do attend our Holiness
That we receive such great indignity? Fetch me some wine.
Pope
Lord Raymond, I drink unto your grace.
Pope
My wine gone too? Ye Lubbers look about
And find the man that doth this villainy,
Or by our sanctitude you all shall die.
I pray my lords have patience at this
Troublesome banquet.
Pope
It may be so.
Go then command our priests to sing a dirge,
To lay the fury of this same troublesome ghost.
Pope
O, I am slain; help me my lords.
O, come and help to bear my body hence.
Damned be this soul forever for this deed.