Fab. Alas! where lies your grief?—Some aqua vitæ!
The devil's very sick, I fear he'll die;
For he looks very ill.
Cor. Dar'st thou deride the minister of darkness?
In Lucifer's great name, Coreb conjures thee
To set him free.
Fab. 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.
Cor. Fabel, I give it thee.
Fab. Swear, damned fiend.
Cor. Unbind me, and by hell I will not touch thee,
Till seven years from this hour be full expir'd.
Fab. Enough, come out.
Cor. A vengeance take thy art!
Live and convert all piety to evil:
Never did man thus overreach the devil.
No time on earth, like Phaetonic flames,
Can have perpetual being. I'll return
To my infernal mansion: but be sure,
Thy seven years done, no trick shall make me tarry;
But, Coreb, thou to hell shalt Fabel carry.
Fab. Then thus between us two this variance ends;
Thou to thy fellow-fiends, I to my friends. [Exeunt.