Or Lucifer will bear thee quick to hell.
Oh soul! be chang’d into small water-drops,
And fall into the ocean; ne’er be found.
(Thunder. Enter the Devils.)
Oh! mercy, Heav’n! Look not so fierce on me!
Adders and serpents, let me breathe awhile!—
Ugly hell, gape not! Come not, Lucifer!
I’ll burn my books! Oh! Mephostophilis.’
Perhaps the finest trait in the whole play, and that which softens and subdues the horror of it, is the interest taken by the two scholars in the fate of their master, and their unavailing attempts to dissuade him from his relentless career. The regard to learning is the ruling passion of this drama; and its indications are as mild and amiable in them as its ungoverned pursuit has been fatal to Faustus.
‘Yet, for he was a scholar once admir’d