Faustus. Bitter enough, and yet true as bitter; for, if our outsides looked like our insides, we should not be very different from that which we imagine you to be; still, I expected to see thee more terrible, and even hoped that thy appearance would try the strength of my courage.
Devil. Thus do ye always imagine things contrary to what they are. Probably you expected a devil with horns and a cloven foot, as the cowardly age has depicted him. But since you have ceased to worship the powers of nature, they have forsaken you, and you can no longer conceive any thing great. If I were to stand before thee such as I really am,—my eyes threatening comets, my body a dark, hovering cloud, which shoots lightning from its gloom, in my hand the sword which I once brandished against the Avenger, and on my arm the ponderous shield which his thunder pierced,—thou wouldst become a heap of ashes in thy circle.
Faustus. But then I should at least see something great.
Devil. I might admire your courage; but
you are never more ridiculous than in these would-be grand bursts of feeling, when you contrast the little you can embrace with the monstrous and great which are so high above you. Thus may the worm measure the trampling elephant, and reckon his weight in the moment when it dies beneath his powerful foot.
Faustus. Mocker! and what, then, is the spirit within me, which, if it once get fairly on the ladder, will mount from step to step into infinity? What are its limits?
Devil. The length of your own nose. But, if you called me out of hell merely for this chit-chat, permit me to return for ever. I have long known your inclination to prate about that which you do not understand.
Faustus. Thy bitterness pleases me; it chimes in with my humour, and I should like to be better acquainted with thee. What is thy name?
Devil. Leviathan; which signifies all, for I can do all.
Faustus. Hear the braggart! Are devils, then, so boastful?