Chapter III: Act II: Faustus in his Study

_Good and Bad Angel descend._

_Good An._ _Faustus_, Repent; yet Heav'n will pity thee.

_Bad An._ Thou art a Spirit, Heav'n cannot pity thee.

_Fau._ Who buzzes in my Ear, I am a Spirit; be I a Devil yet Heaven can pity me: Yea, Heaven will pity me, if I repent.

_Bad An._ Ay, but _Faustus_ never shall repent.

_Good An._ Sweet _Faustus_ think of Heav'n, and heavenly Things. [_Ascends._

_Fau._ My Heart is hardened, I cannot repent.
Scarce can I name Salvation, Faith, or Heav'n,
But I am pinch'd, and prick'd, in thousand Places.
O help distressed _Faustus_!

Lucifer, Beelzebub. _and_ Mephostopholis _rises_.

_Luc._ None can afford thee help; for only I have Interest in thee, _Faustus_.

_Fau._ Oh! What art thou, that looks so terrible?

_Luc._ I am _Lucifer_, and this is my Companion Prince in Hell.

_Beel._ We are come to tell thee thou dost injure us.

_Luc._ Thou call'st on Heav'n contrary to thy Promise.

_Beel._ Thou should'st not think on Heav'n.

_Fau._ Nor will I henceforth pardon him for this,
And _Faustus_ Vows never to look to Heav'n.

_Beel._ So shalt thou shew thy self a faithful Servant,
And we will highly gratify thee for it.

_Fau._ Those Words delight my Soul.

_Luc._ _Faustus_, we are come in Person to shew thee Passtime; sit down, and thou shalt behold the Seven Deadly Sins in their own proper Shapes and Likeness.

_Fau._ That Sight will be as pleasant to my Eye, as Paradise to _Adam_ the first Day of his Creation.

_Beel._ Talk not of Paradise, but mind the Show. Go, _Mephostopholis_, and fetch 'em in; and, _Faustus_, question 'em their Names. _Enter Pride._

_Fau._ What art thou?

_Prid._ I am _Pride_; I was begot by Disdain and Affectation. I always took the Wall of my Betters; had ever the first Cut, or else would not eat: I scorn'd all Advice, never thought any one handsom but my self; had the best Pue in the Church, though a Tradesman's Wife; and at last dyed of the Spleen, for want of a Coach and Six Horses. Why is not thy Room perfum'd, and spread with Cloth of _Tissue_? What must you sit, and I stand? Rise up Brute.

_Fau._ Go, thou art a proud Slut indeed. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Covetousness.

Now what art thou the Second.

_Cov._ I am _Covetousness_; I was begot by a close Fist, and a griping Heart, in a Usurer's Chest. I never eat, to save Charges: This Coat has cover'd me for Fourscore Winters: This Beard has seen as many more. I never slept in my Life, but always watch'd my Gold.

_Fau._ What wert thou on Earth?

_Cov._ I was first an Exciseman, and cheated the King and Country; then I was a Baker, and from every Neighbor's Loaf I stole Two Pound, and swore 'twas shrunk in the Oven. I was a Vintner, and by bribing of Quest-men had leave to sell in Pint Bottles for Quarts: At last I was a Horse-courser, made _Smithfield_ too hot to hold me, and rid Post to the Devil? Give me some Gold, Father? [_Exit._

_Enter_ Envy.

_Fau._ What art thou the Third?

_Env._ I am _Envy_; begot by a Chimny-sweeper upon an Oyster-wench. I cannot read, and wish all Books burnt. I always curst the Government that I was not prefer'd; and was a Male-content in Three Kings Reigns. I am Lean with seeing others Eat; and I wish the Devil would make a Sponge of thy Heart, to wipe out the Score of my Sins.

_Enter_ Wrath.

_Fau._ Out, Envious Wretch. What art thou the Fourth?

_Wra._ I am _Wrath_; I had neither Father nor Mother, but leap'd out of a Lion's Mouth when I was scarce an Hour old. I always abhor'd the Art of Patience, and curst all Fisher-men. I beat my Wife for my Pleasure; curst Heav'n in my Passion, 'cause it gave me no Fortune, and was hang'd for a Rape on a _Scotch_ Pedlar. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Gluttony.

_Fau._ What art thou the Fifth?

_Glut._ I am _Gluttony_; begot by a Plow-man on a Washer-woman, who devour'd a _Chedder_ Cheese in two Hours. I am of a Royal Pedigree: My Grand-father was a Sur-loin of Beef, and my Mother a Gammon of Bacon: My Sisters were Sows, which supply'd me with Pork: My Brothers were Calves, which afforded me Veal: My God-fathers were _Peter_ Pickled-Herring, and _Michael_ Milk-Porredg: My God-mothers were _Susan_ Salt-butter, and _Margery_ Sous'd-Hog's-Face. Now, _Faustus_, thou hast heard my Pedigree, wilt thou invite me to Supper?

_Fau._ Not I.

_Glut._ Then the Devil choak thee.

_Enter_ Sloth.

_Fau._ What art thou the Sixth?

_Slo._ Hey ho! I am _Sloth_; I was begotten at Church by a sleepy Judg on a Costermonger's Wife, in the middle of a long Sermon. I am as Lazy as a Fishmonger in the Dog-days, or a Parson in _Lent_: I would not speak another Word for a King's Ransom.

_Enter_ Leachery.

_Fau._ And what are you, Mr. _Minks_, the Seventh and last?

_Leach._ I am one that love an Inch of Raw Mutton better than an Ell of Fry'd Stock-fish, and the first Letter of my Name begins with _Leachery_. [_Exit._

_Fau._ This Sight delights my Soul.

_Luc._ _Faustus_ in Hell are all manner of Delights.

_Fau._ O might I see Hell once, and return safe.

_Luc.__ Faustus_, thou shalt; give me thy hand. Hence let's descend, and we will _Faustus_ show The mighty Pleasures in the World below. [_Vanishes._

SCENE _Changes_.

_Enter_ Harlequin, _and_ Scaramouche _in the Doctor's Gown; a Wand, and a Circle_.

_Scar._ So, now am I in my _Pontificalibus_: Now can I shew my Black Art; for I have found that heavenly Book which _Faustus_ used to raise the Dead in: Come, stand within this Circle.

_Har._ 'Tis time to Conjure, for I am almost famish'd. We have fasted like Priests for a Miracle.

_Scar._ I'll make thee amends presently; I'll conjure up a Spirit, ask what thou wilt thou shalt have it.

_Har._ Let me alone for asking.

_Scar._ Be very earnest with him, and intreat mightily.

_Har._ I'll intreat Earnestly.

_Scar._ Silence. _Sint mihi Dii Acherontis propitii Nobis Diccatus Mephostopholis, &c._

Mephostopholis _rises_.

_Meph._ How am I tortur'd by these Villains Charms?
From _Constantinople_ have they brought me now,
Only for Measure of these idle Slaves? What
Would you with _Mephostopholis_?

_Scar._ Wee'd know how Dr. _Faustus_ does.

_Meph._ Well.

_Scar._ When comes he home?

_Meph._ Within Two Days.

_Scar._ What was he doing when you left him?

_Meph._ He was at Supper, eating good Chear.

_Har._ Good Mr. Devil, tell him we are almost starv'd; and desire him to send us some of his good Chear.

_Meph._ Is that all?

_Har._ Some Wine too?

_Meph._ What else.

_Har._ What else: Why if Fornication been't against your Commandments, we would have some live Flesh; a handsom Wench.

_Scar._ Only for a third Person, and please your Damnation.

_Meph._ You shall have your Desires.

_Har._ We desire your Mephostopholiship too, not to let us stay the Roasting and Boiling of any thing: For we are as Eager as the Wine in _Smithfield_, and want no whetting.

_Meph._ You shall.

Scaramouche _and_ Harlequin _pull off their Caps_.

Now if your mighty Darkness would please to Retire.

_Meph._ Farewell. [_Vanish._

Scaramouche _steps out of the Circle, and struts about_.

_Scar._ Now how do you like my Art?

_Har._ O rare Art! O divine Mr. Doctor _Scaramouche_! If the Devil be as good as his Word, I'll owe him a good Turn as long as I live: But I wish our third Person would come.

_A Giant rises._

Ha! What's here?

_Gi._ I am sent by _Pluto_ to bear you Company.

_Har._ Is this his third Person? Or is it Three Generations in One? Come you from _Guild-hall_, Sir?

_Gi._ No, Mortal, from the _Stygian_ Lake. I am the Giant which St. _George_ destroy'd; and in the Earth have been decaying ever since, but now am come to Eat with you.

_Scar._ To pick up your Crums, Sir: You'r heartily Welcome.

Scaramouche _gets upon_ Harlequin, _and salutes him_.

_Gi._ I have lain now within the _Stygian_ Lake 2000 Years.

_Scar._ Your Honour is not much shrunk in the Wetting.

_Gi._ But we loose Time, and Dinner cools.

_Har._ Where is it?

_Gi._ In the next Room.

_Scar._ Will it please your Lustiness to lead the Way?

_Har._ Will it please you then to make way for him?

_Gi._ I can divide my self to serve my Friends?

[_Giant leaps in two._

Breeches be you my Page, and follow me.

Harleq. _and_ Scaram. _complement the Breeches_. [_Exeunt._

SCENE _draws, and discovers a Table furnished with Bottles of Wine, and a Venison Pasty, a Pot of wild Fowl_, &c.

_Enter_ Scaramouche, Giant, _and_ Harlequin.

_Har._ O heavenly Apparition!

_Scar._ Come, let's sit down.

_The upper part of the Giant flies up, and the under sinks, and discovers a Woman in the Room._

Harlequin _and_ Scaramouche _start_.

_Scar._ Ha! What's here, a Woman?

_Har._ O happy Change! Madam, with your good Leave.

[_Kisses._

_Scar._ Never too late in good Breeding. [_Kisses._] Rare Wench! And as Luscious as Pig-sauce.

_Har._ Heav'n be prais'd for all.

[_Woman sinks, a Flash of Lightning._

_Scar._ Your unseasonable Thankfulness has rob'd us of our Strumpet.

_Har._ No matter, no matter; we shall meet her in the Cloisters after the Fair. Come let's fall too.

[_They put their Caps before their Faces._

Ha!

_Scar._ The Table runs away from us.

_Har._ We'll bestow the Pains to follow it again; this I see is a running Banquet.

[_They put their Caps on again, the Table removes._

_Scar._ I have found the Secret: We must not say Grace at the Devil's Feast.

_Har._ Come then let's fall too, _San's_ Ceremony; Will you be Carver?

_Scar._ Every one for himself, I say.

_Har._ Ay, every one for himself, and God for us all.

[_Table flies up into the Air._

_Scar._ A Plague o'your Proverb; it has a Word in't must not be named.

_Har._ Ah, Mr. Doctor, do but intreat Mr. _Mephostopholis_ to let the Table down to us, or send us to that, and I'll be his Servant as long as I live. [_They are hoisted up to the Table._

_Scar. and Har._ Oh, oh, oh.

_Scar._ Now have a care of another Proverb: We go without our Supper.

_Har._ Nay, now I know the Devil's Humour, I'll hit him to a Hair: Pray, Mr. Doctor, cut up that Pasty.

_Scar._ I can't get my Knife into it, 'tis over-bak'd.

_Har._ Ay, 'tis often so: God sends Meat, and the Devil sends Cooks. [_Table flies down._

_Scar._ Thou Varlet, dost thou see what thy Proverb has done?

_Har._ Now could I curse my Grand-mother, for she taught 'em me: Well, if sweet _Mephostopholis_ will be so kind as but to let us and the Table come together again, I'll promise never to say Grace, or speak Proverb more, as long as I live.

[_They are let down to the Table._

_Scar._ Your Prayers are heard, now be careful; for if I lose my Supper by thy Negligence I'll cut thy Throat.

_Har._ Do, and eat me when you have done. I am damnably hungry; I'll cut open this Pasty, while you open that Pot of wild Fowl.

[Harlequin _takes off the Lid of the Pasty, and a Stag's Head peeps out; and out of the Pot of Fowl flies Birds_. Harlequin _and_ Scaramouche _start back, fall over their Chairs, and get up_.

_Har._ Here's the Nest but the Birds are flown: Here's Wine though, and now I'll conjure for a Supper. I have a Sallad within of my own Gathering in the Fields to Day.

_Scar._ Fetch it in; Bread, Wine, and a Salad may serve for a Collation.

_Enter_ Harlequin _with a Tray of Sallad_.

_Har._ Come, no Ceremony among Friends. _Bon. fro._

_Scar._ _Sallad mal adjuste_; here's neither Fat nor Lean.

_Har._ O Mr. Doctor, neither Fat nor Lean in a Sallad.

_Scar._ Neither Oyl, nor Vinegar.

_Har._ Oh! I'll fetch you that presently.

[Harlequin _fetches a Chamber-pot of Piss, and a Lamp of Oyl, and pours on the Sallad_.

_Scar._ O thy Sallad is nothing but Thistles and Netles; and thy Oyl stinks worse than _Arsefetito_.

_Har._ Bread and Wine be our Fare. Ha! the Bread's alive. [_Bread stirs._

_Scar._ Or the Devil's in't. Hey! again. [_Bread sinks._

_Har._ My Belly's as empty as a Beggar's Purse.

_Scar._ And mine as full of Wind as a Trumpeter's Cheeks.

[_Table sinks, and Flash of Lightning._

But since we can't Eat, let's Drink: Come, here's Dr. _Faustus_'s Health.

_Har._ Ay, come; God bless Dr. _Faustus_.

[_Bottles fly up, and the Table sinks._

_Scar._ What all gone: Here's a Banquet stole away like a City Feast. [_Musick._

_Har._ Ha! here's Musick to delight us.

[_Two Chairs rises._ Harlequin _and_ Scaramouche _sits down, and are caught fast_.

_Scar._ Ha! the Devil. We are lock'd in.

_Har._ As fast as a Counter Rat.

_Enter several Devils, who black_ Harlequin _and_ Scaramouche's _Faces, and then squirt Milk upon them_. _After the Dance they both sink._

_Scar. and Har._ O' o, o'----

_The End of the Second Act._