SCENE I.--FAUSTUS' _study. Enter_ WAGNER.

WAGNER: I think my master means to die shortly. He has made his will, and given me his wealth, his house, his goods, and store of golden plate, besides two thousand ducats ready coined. I wonder what he means? If death were nigh, he would not frolic thus. He's now at supper with the scholars, where there's such cheer as Wagner in his life ne'er saw the like. Here he comes; belike the feast is ended.

[_Exit. Enter_ FAUSTUS; MEPHISTOPHILIS _follows_.

FAUSTUS: Accursed Faustus! Wretch, what hast thou done? I do repent, and yet I do despair. Hell strives with grace for conquest in my breast; What shall I do to shun the snares of death?

MEPHISTOPHILIS: Thou traitor, Faustus, I arrest thy soul For disobedience to my sovereign lord! Revolt, or I'll in piecemeal tear thy flesh!

FAUSTUS: I do repent I e'er offended him! Sweet Mephistophilis, entreat thy lord To pardon my unjust presumption; And with my blood again I will confirm The former vow I made to Lucifer.

MEPHISTOPHILIS: Do it, then, Faustus, with unfeignéd heart, Lest greater dangers do attend thy drift.

FAUSTUS: One thing, good servant, let me crave of thee: Bring that fair Helen, whose admiréd worth Made Greece with ten years' war afflict poor Troy; Whose sweet embraces may extinguish clean Those thoughts that do dissuade me from my vow, And keep my oath I made to Lucifer.

MEPHISTOPHILIS: This, or what else my Faustus may desire, Shall be performed in twinkling of an eye.

[_Enter_ HELEN, _passing over the stage between two cupids_.

FAUSTUS: Was this the face that launched a thousand ships And burnt the topless towers of Ilium? Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss!

[_Kisses her_.

Her lips suck forth my soul; see where it flies! Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again! Oh, thou art fairer than the evening air Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars: Brighter art thou than naming Jupiter, When he appeared to hapless Semele: More lovely than the monarch of the sky, In wanton Arethusa's azured arms! Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips, And all is dross that is not Helena.