Their souls are soon dissolv'd in elements;
But mine must live still to be plagu'd in hell.
Curs'd be the parents that engender'd me!
No, Faustus, curse thyself, curse Lucifer,
That hath depriv'd thee of the joys of heav'n.
[The clock strikes twelve.]

It strikes, it strikes! now, body, turn to air,
Or Lucifer will bear thee quick to hell.
O soul! be chang'd into small water-drops,
And fall into the ocean; ne'er be found.

Thunder. Enter the DEVILS.

Oh! mercy, heav'n, look not so fierce on me!
Adders and serpents, let me breathe awhile!—
Ugly hell, gape not! - Come not, Lucifer!
I'll burn my books!-Oh, Mephostophilis! [Exeunt.
Enter the SCHOLARS.

1 SCHо. Come, gentlemen, let us go visit Faustus, For such a dreadful night was never seen Since first the world's creation did begin; Such fearful shrieks and cries were never heard; Pray heaven the Doctor have escap'd the danger. 2 SCHо. Oh, help us, heavens! see, here are Faustus' limbs,

All torn asunder by the hand of death.

3 SCHо. The devils whom Faustus serv'd have

torn him thus;

For twixt the hours of twelve and one, methought
I heard him shriek and cry aloud for help;
At which self-time the house seem'd all on fire,

With dreadful horror of these damned fiends.

2 SCHO. Well, gentlemen, though Faustus' end be

such

As every christian heart laments to think on;
Yet, for he was a scholar once admir'd

For wondrous knowledge in our German schools,
We'll give his mangled limbs due burial;

And all the students, clothed in mourning black,
Shall wait upon his heavy funeral.

Enter CHORUS.

[Exeunt.

Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight,
And burned is Apollo's laurel bough,

That sometime grew within this learned man :
Faustus is gone: regard his hellish fall,
Whose fiendful fortune may exhort the wise,
Only to wonder at unlawful things;

Whose deepness doth entice such forward wits,
To practice more than heavenly power permits.

Terminat horu diem, terminat author opus.

1

THE

MASSACRE AT PARIS.