But, I prithee, tell me in good sadness, Robin, is that a conjuring-book?

ROBIN. Do but speak what thou'lt have me to do, and I'll do't: if thou'lt dance naked, put off thy clothes, and I'll conjure thee about presently; or, if thou'lt go but to the tavern with me, I'll give thee white wine, red wine, claret-wine, sack, muscadine, malmsey, and whippincrust, hold, belly, hold;(93) and we'll not pay one penny for it.

DICK. 0, brave! Prithee,(94) let's to it presently, for I am as dry as a dog.

ROBIN. Come, then, let's away. [Exeunt.]


CHORUS. Learned Faustus, To find the secrets of astronomy Graven in the book of Jove's high firmament, Did mount him(95) up to scale Olympus' top; Where, sitting in a chariot burning bright, Drawn by the strength of yoked dragons' necks, He views(96) the clouds, the planets, and the stars, The tropic zones, and quarters of the sky, )From the bright circle of the horned moon Even to the height of Primum Mobile; And, whirling round with this(97) circumference, Within the concave compass of the pole, )From east to west his dragons swiftly glide, And in eight days did bring him home again. Not long he stay'd within his quiet house, To rest his bones after his weary toil; But new exploits do hale him out again: And, mounted then upon a dragon's back, That with his wings did part the subtle air, He now is gone to prove cosmography, That measures coasts and kingdoms of the earth; And, as I guess, will first arrive at Rome, To see the Pope and manner of his court, And take some part of holy Peter's feast, The which this day is highly solemniz'd. [Exit.]


FAUSTUS. Having now, my good Mephistophilis, Pass'd with delight the stately town of Trier, Environ'd round(98) with airy mountain-tops, With walls of flint, and deep-entrenched lakes, Not to be won by any conquering prince; )From Paris next, coasting the realm of France, We saw the river Maine fall into Rhine,(99) Whose banks are set with groves of fruitful vines; Then up to(100) Naples, rich Campania, Whose buildings fair and gorgeous to the eye, The streets straight forth, and pav'd with finest brick, Quarter the town in four equivalents:(101) There saw we learned Maro's golden tomb; The way he cut, an English mile in length, Thorough(102) a rock of stone, in one night's space; )From thence to Venice, Padua, and the rest,(103) In one of which a sumptuous temple stands, That threats the stars with her aspiring top, Whose frame is pav'd with sundry-colour'd stones, And roof'd aloft with curious work in gold. Thus hitherto hath Faustus spent his time: But tell me(104) now, what resting-place is this? Hast thou, as erst I did command, Conducted me within the walls of Rome?

MEPHIST. I have, my Faustus; and, for proof thereof, This is the goodly palace of the Pope; And, 'cause we are no common guests, I choose his privy-chamber for our use.

FAUSTUS. I hope his Holiness will bid us(105) welcome.

MEPHIST. All's one, for we'll be bold with his venison. But now, my Faustus, that thou mayst perceive What Rome contains for to delight thine eyes, Know that this city stands upon seven hills That underprop the groundwork of the same: Just through(106) the midst runs flowing Tiber's stream, With winding banks that cut it in two parts; Over the which two stately bridges lean, That make safe passage to each part of Rome: Upon the bridge call'd Ponte(107) Angelo Erected is a castle passing strong, Where thou shalt see such store of ordnance, As that the double cannons, forg'd of brass, Do match(108) the number of the days contain'd Within the compass of one complete year; Beside the gates, and high pyramides, That Julius Caesar brought from Africa.

FAUSTUS. Now, by the kingdoms of infernal rule, Of Styx, of Acheron, and the fiery lake Of ever-burning Phlegethon, I swear That I do long to see the(109) monuments And situation of bright-splendent Rome: Come, therefore, let's away.

MEPHIST. Nay, stay, my Faustus: I know you'd see the Pope, And take some part of holy Peter's feast, The which, in state and(110) high solemnity, This day, is held through Rome and Italy, In honour of the Pope's triumphant victory.

The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus Page 11

Christopher Marlowe

16th Century Literature

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Christopher Marlowe
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