COREB.
Come, Fabell, hast thou done?
FABELL.
Yes, yes; come hither.
COREB.
Fabell, I cannot.
FABELL.
Cannot?—What ails your hollownes?
COREB.
Good Fabell, help me.
FABELL.
Alas, where lies your grief? Some Aqua-vitae!
The Devil's very sick, I fear he'll die,
For he looks very ill.
COREB.
Darst thou deride the minister of darkness?
In Lucifer's dread name Coreb conjures thee
To set him free.
FABELL.
I will not for the mines of all the earth,
Unless thou give me liberty to see
Seven years more, before thou seize on me.
COREB.
Fabell, I give it thee.
FABELL.
Swear, damned fiend.