Enter Chorus.

Chorus. Not marching in the fields of Thrasy

mene,

Where Mars did mate the warlike Carthagens;*
Nor sporting in the dalliance of love,

In courts of kings where state is overturn'd;
Nor in the pomp of proud audacious deeds,
Intends our Muse to vaunt hert heavenly verse:
Only this, gentles,-we must now perform
The form of Faustus' fortunes, good or bad:
And now to patient judgments we appeal,
And speak for Faustus in his infancy.
Now is he born of parents base of stock,
In Germany, within a town call'd Rhodes:
At riper years, to Wittenberg he went,
Whereas his kinsmen chiefly brought him up.
So much he profits in divinity,

That shortly he was grac'd with doctor's name,
Excelling all, and sweetly can dispute
In th' heavenly matters of theology;
Till swoln with cunning, of a self-conceit,
His waxen wings did mount above his reach,
And, melting, heavens conspir'd his overthrow;
For, falling to a devilish exercise,

And glutted now with learning's golden gifts,
He surfeits upon§ cursed necromancy;
Nothing so sweet as magic is to him,
Which he prefers before his chiefest bliss:
And this the man that in his study sits.

[Exit.

* Carthagens] So 4tos 1616, 1624, (and compare 4to 1604, p. 79)-2to 1631 "Carthagen."

ther] Old eds. "his."

tof] So 4to 1616.-2tos 1624, 1631, "and."

§ upon] So 4to 1616.-2tos 1624 1631 "on the."

I se se i

FAUSTUS dis.overed in his study.

Faust. Settle thy studies, Faustus, and begin To sound the depth of that thou wilt profess : Having commenc'd, be a divine in show, Yet level at the end of every art,

And live and die in Aristotle's works.

Sweet Analytics, 'tis thou hast ravish'd me!
Bene disserere est finis logices.

Is, to dispute well, logic's chiefest end?
Affords this art no greater miracle?

Then read no more; thou hast attain'd that end:

A greater subject fitteth Faustus' wit:
Bid Economy farewell, and Galen come :
Be a physician, Faustus; heap up gold,
And be eterniz'd for some wondrous cure:
Summum bonum medicinæ sanitas,
The end of physic is our body's health.
Why, Faustus, hast thou not attain'd that end?
Are not thy bills hung up as monuments,
Whereby whole cities have escap'd the plague,
And thousand desperate maladies been cur'd?
Yet art thou still but Faustus, and a man.
Couldst thou make men to live eternally,
Or, being dead, raise themt to life again,
Then this profession were to be esteem'd.
Physic, farewell! Where is Justinian? [Reads.
Si una eademque res legatur‡ duobus, alter rem,
alter valorem rei, &c.

A petty§ case of paltry legacies !

[Reads.

* thousand] So 4to 1616.-2tos 1624, 1631, "diuers."

↑ them] So 4to 1616.-2tos 1624, 1631, “men." legatur] Old eds. "legatus."

§ petty] I may notice that 4to 1604 has "pretty," which is perhaps the right reading.