My men like satyrs grazing on the lawns, / Shall with their goat-feet dance an antic hay.
Faustus: Stay, Mephistopheles, and tell me, what good will my soul do thy lord? Mephistopheles: Enlarge his kingdom. Faustus: Is that the reason he tempts us thus? Mephistopheles: Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris. (It is a comfort to the wretched to have companions in misery)
Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount above his reach, And, melting, Heavens conspir'd his overthrow.
What art thou Faustus, but a man condemned to die?
I am Envy, begotten of a chimney-sweeper and an oyster-wife. I cannot read, and therefore wish all books were burnt; I am lean with seeing others eat - O that there would come a famine through all the world, that all might die, and I live alone; then thou should'st see how fat I would be! But must thou sit and I stand? Come down, with a vengeance!
More childish valorous than manly wise.
Accurst be he that first invented war.
Blood is the god of war's rich livery.
... when all the world dissolves, And every creature shall be purified, All places shall be hell that are not heaven.
I'm armed with more than complete steel, - The justice of my quarrel.
All places shall be hell that are not heaven.
Ah fair Zenocrate, divine Zenocrate, Fair is too foul an epithet for thee.
Hell strives with grace for conquest in my breast. What shall I do to shun the snares of death?
Love is not ful of pittie (as men say) But deaffe and cruell, where he meanes to pray.
Unhappy spirits that fell with Lucifer, / Conspired against our God with Lucifer, / And are for ever damned with Lucifer.
That perfect bliss and sole felicity, the sweet fruition of an earthly crown.
You stars that reigned at my nativity, whose influence hath allotted death and hell.
Now I will show myselfTo have more of the serpent than the dove;That is--more knave than fool.
The griefs of private men are soon allayed, But not of kings.
Religion! O Diabole! Fie, I am asham'd, however that I seem, To think a word of such simple sound, Of such great matter should be made the ground.
Jigging veins of rhyming mother wits.
FAUSTUS. [Stabbing his arm.] Lo, Mephistophilis, for love of thee, I cut mine arm, and with my proper blood Assure my soul to be great Lucifer's, Chief lord and regent of perpetual night!
Is it not passing brave to be a King and ride in triumph through Persepolis?
Who hateth me but for my happiness? Or who is honored now but for his wealth? Rather had I, a Jew, be hated thus, Than pitied in a Christian poverty.
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