Now, Faustus, let thine eyes with horror stare
Into that vast perpetual torture-house.
There are the Furies tossing damned souls
On burning forks; their bodies boil in lead,
Yet ne'er can die.
But yet all these are nothing; thou shalt see!
Oh, I have seen enough to torture me.
Nay, thou must feel them, taste the smart
of all.
He that loves pleasure must for pleasure fall.
It strikes, it strikes! Now body turn to air,
Or Lucifer will bear thee quick to hell.
O soul be changed into small water drops,
And fall into the ocean ne'er be found.
My God, my God, 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, Mephistopheles!
