I think my master means to die shortly. He has made his will and given me his wealth: his house, his goods, and store of golden plate—besides two thousand ducats ready coined. I wonder what he means. If death were nigh, he would not frolic thus. He’s now at supper with the scholars[.]
Mephostophilis. Thou traitor Faustus, I arrest thy soul
For disobedience to my sovereign lord.
Revolt, or I’ll in piecemeal tear thy flesh.
Faustus. I do repent I e’er offended him.
Sweet Mephostophilis, entreat thy lord
To pardon my unjust presumption,
And with my blood again I will confirm
The former vow I made to Lucifer.
Oft have I thought to have done so, but the devil threatened to tear me in pieces if I named God—to fetch me body and soul if I once gave ear to divinity; and now ’tis too late! Gentlemen, away, lest you perish with me.
O, thou hast lost celestial happiness,
Pleasures unspeakable, bliss without end.
Had’st thou affected sweet divinity,
Hell or the devil had had no power on thee.
Had’st thou kept on that way, Faustus behold
In what resplendent glory thou had’st sat
In yonder throne, like those bright shining saints,
And triumphed over hell! That hast thou lost . . .
And now, poor soul, must thy good angel leave thee,
The jaws of hell are open to receive thee.
But mine must live still to be plagued in hell!
Cursed be the parents that engendered me!
No Faustus, curse thyself, curse Lucifer
That hath deprived thee of the joys of heaven…
It strikes, it strikes! Now body, turn to air,
Or Lucifer will bear thee quick to hell!