Five hundred marks.
Mar. (indignantly). Five hundred fiddlesticks!
A wicked waste!
Meph.Well, knowing all I know
About his mode of life, I must admit
It is a waste; but so his will directs.
Mar. And is that all? Left he no parting words
Of penitence?
Meph.Oh yes; as death drew near,
He much bewailed his manifold transgressions