FAUST
That were a boon not easily despised.
SATAN
It shall be yours! My crushed and broken foe
Shall never at my hand lack final rest
Where nightmares cannot come. As honest foes
We shall be quit. And for this priceless gift
I ask but that you give me, as remembrance,
That book which you have wrought concerning me.
FAUST
Why still so eager?
SATAN
Eager? I am not.
FAUST
Satan, my soul still sees, though death has drawn
Its curtains round my body. You have sought
With long endeavor to enslave my will
To nothingness; now would you doom to dark
My sublimated soul, my written word,
My force immortal....
(He takes up the pen)
This, Satan, is your answer—
(He writes on the last sheet of the manuscript)
"With this last word I close my testament:
'Man, work thy will, and God shall come of thee.'"