Old M. Faustus, I leave thee, but with grief of Heart, Fearing thy Enemy will near depart. [Exit.
Enter Mephostopholis.
Meph. Thou Traytor, I arrest thee for Disobedience to thy Sovereign Lord; revolt, or I'll in piece-meal tear thy Flesh.
Faust. I do repent I e'er offended him; torment, sweet Friend, that old Man that durst disswade me from thy Lucifer.
Meph. His Faith is great, I cannot touch his Soul; but what I can afflict his Body with I will.
Enter Horse-courser and Carter.
Hors. We are come to drink a Health to your wooden Leg.
Faust. My wooden Leg; what dost thou mean, Friend?
Hors. Ha, ha! he has forgot his Leg.
Cart. Psha, 'tis not a Leg he stands upon. Pray, let me ask you one Question; Are both your Legs Bed-fellows?