Cor. I will not for the mines of all the earth.
Fab. Then let me rise, and ere I leave the world,
Despatch[240] some business that I have to do;
And in meantime repose thee in that chair.
Cor. Fabel, I will.
[Sits down in the necromantic chair.
Fab. O, that this soul, that cost so dear a price
As the dear precious blood of her Redeemer,
Inspir'd with knowledge, should by that alone,
Which makes a man so mean unto the powers,
Ev'n lead him down into the depth of hell;
When men in their own pride strive to know more
Than man should know!
For this alone God cast the angels down.
The infinity of arts is like a sea,
Into which when man will take in hand to sail
Farther than reason (which should be his pilot)
Hath skill to guide him—losing once his compass,
He falleth to such deep and dangerous whirlpools,
As he doth lose the very sight of heaven:
The more he strives to come to quiet harbour,
The farther still he finds himself from land.
Man, striving still to find the depth of evil—
Seeking to be a god, becomes a devil.
Cor. Come, Fabel, hast thou done?
Fab. Yes, yes, come hither.
Cor. Fabel, I cannot.
Fab. Cannot! what ails your hollowness?
Cor. Good Fabel, help me.