Away! You love me not to urge me thus. Shall I let slip so great an injury When every servile groom jests at my wrongs And in their rustic gambols proudly say, “Benvolio’s head was graced with horns today”? O, may these eyelids never close again Till with my sword I have that conjurer slain!
Nay keep it. Faustus will have heads and hands, Ay, all your hearts, to recompense this deed. Knew you not, traitors, I was limited For four and twenty years to breathe on earth? And had you cut my body with your swords Or hewed this flesh and bones as small as sand, Yet in a minute had my spirit returned And I had breathed a man made free from harm.
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. Sith black disgrace hath thus eclipsed our fame, We’ll rather die with grief than live with shame.
Previous section Act III, Scene 3–Act IV, Scene 2 Next section Act IV, Scenes 5–7

Popular pages: Doctor Faustus

Take a Study Break