No More Learning

Each man lived for
himself, and might was right. The stone or club was used in hunting;
but the cave-dwellers were in frequent danger of being devoured by
beasts of prey. Still, savage mortality was no greater than that of
modern times.


THE EVOLVING OF CIVILISATION

When men had got them huts and skins and fire,
And woman joined with man to make a home,
And when they saw an offspring born from them,
Then first began the softening of the race.
Fire left them less inured with shivering frames
To bear the cold 'neath heaven's canopy.
Then neighbours turned to compacts mutual,
Desirous nor to do nor suffer harm.
They claimed for child and woman tenderness,
Declaring by their signs and stammering cries
That pity for the weak becometh all.

The rudiments of humane sentiments sprang, therefore, in prehistoric
family life. Language was the gradual outcome of natural cries,
not an arbitrary invention. The uses of fire were learned from the
lightning-flash and from conflagrations due to spontaneous combustion
or chance friction. In time this opened out the possibility of many
arts, such as metal-working; for forest fires caused streams of
silver, gold, copper, or lead to run into hollows, and early man
observed that when cooled, the glittering lumps retained the mould of
the cavities. Nature also was the model for sowing and grafting. Those
who excelled in mental endowment invented new modes of life. Towns and
strongholds were founded as places of defence; and possessions were
secured by personal beauty, strength, or cleverness. But the access of
riches often ousted the claims of both beauty and strength.

For men, though strong and fair to look upon,
Oft follow in the retinue of wealth.

Religious feelings were fostered by visions and dreams; marvellous
shapes to which savage man ascribed supernatural powers. Recurrent
appearances of such shapes induced a belief in their continuous
existence: so arose the notion of gods that live for ever.

Our navigation, tillage, walls, and laws,
Our armour, roads, and dress, and such-like boons,
And every elegance of modern life,
Poems and pictures, statues deftly wrought,
All these men learned with slow advancing steps
From practice and the knowledge won by wit.
So by degrees time brings each thing to sight,
And reason raiseth it to realms of day.
In arts must one thing, then another, shine,
Until they win their full development.


FOOTNOTES:

[V] To the Roman poet Titus Corus Lucretius (99-55 B. C. )
belongs the distinction of having made Epicureanism epic. Possessed by
a desire to free his fellow men from the trammels of superstition and
the dread of death, he composed his poem, "On the Nature of Things. "
His reasonings were based on the atomic theory, which the Greek
Epicurus had taken as the physical side of his system. In natural
law Lucretius found the true antidote to superstition, and from a
materialistic hypothesis of atoms and void he deduced everything.
Against the futilities of myth-religion he protested with the fervour
of an evangelist. On the ethical side, he accepted from Epicurus
the conception that the ideal lies in pleasure--not wild, sensual
pleasure, but that calm of mind which comes from temperate and refined
enjoyment, subdual of extravagant passion, and avoidance of political
entanglements. It is appropriate that the life of this apostle of
scientific quietism should be involved in obscurity. The story of his
insanity, so beautifully treated by Tennyson, may or may not be true.
It is hardly credible that a work so closely reasoned was, as a whole,
composed in lucid intervals between fits of madness; but, on the other
hand, there are signs of flagging in the later portions, and the work
comes to a sudden conclusion. The translations are specially made by
Prof. J. Wight Duff, and include a few extracts from his "Literary
History of Rome. "




JAMES MACPHERSON




Ossian[W]


_I. --Carthon_

A tale of the times of old--the deeds of days of other years.

Who comes from the land of strangers, with his thousands around him?
The sunbeam pours its bright stream before him; his hair meets the wind
of his hills. His face is settled from war. He is calm as the evening
beam that looks, from the cloud of the west, on Cona's silent vale. Who
is it but Fingal, the king of mighty deeds! The feast is spread around;
the night passed away in joy.


"Tell," said the mighty Fingal to Clessammor, "the tale of thy youthful
days. Let us hear the sorrow of thy youth, and the darkness of thy
days. "

"It was in the days of peace," replied the great Clessammor. "I came in
my bounding ship to Balclutha's walls of towers. Three days I remained
in Reuthamir's halls, and saw his daughter--that beam of light. Her
eyes were like the stars of night. My love for Moina was great; my
heart poured forth in joy.

"The son of a stranger came--a chief who loved the white-bosomed Moina.
The strength of his pride arose. We fought; he fell beneath my sword.
The banks of Clutha heard his fall, a thousand spears glittered around.
I fought; the strangers prevailed. I plunged into the stream of Clutha.
My white sails rose over the waves, and I bounded on the dark-blue sea.
Moina came to the shore, her loose hair flew on the wind, and I heard
her mournful, distant cries. Often did I turn my ship, but the winds of
the east prevailed. Nor Clutha ever since have I seen, nor Moina of the
dark-brown hair. She fell in Balclutha, for I have seen her ghost. I
knew her as she came through the dusky night, along the murmur of Lora.
She was like the new moon seen through the gathered mist, when the sky
pours down its flaky snow and the world is silent and dark. "

"Raise, ye bards," said the mighty Fingal, "the praise of unhappy
Moina. "

The night passed away in song; morning returned in joy. The mountains
showed their grey heads; the blue face of ocean smiled. But as the sun
rose on the sea Fingal and his heroes beheld a distant fleet. Like a
mist on the ocean came the strange ships, and discharged their youth
upon the coast. Carthon, their chief, was among them, like the stag in
the midst of the herd. He was a king of spears, and as he moved towards
Selma his thousands moved behind him.

"Go, with a song of peace," said Fingal. "Go, Ullin, to the king of
spears. Tell him that the ghosts of our foes are many; but renowned are
they who have feasted in my halls! "

When Ullin came to the mighty Carthon, he raised the song of peace.

"Come to the feast of Fingal, Carthon, from the rolling sea! Partake of
the feast of the king, or lift the spear of war. Behold that field, O
Carthon. Many a green hill rises there, with mossy stones and rustling
grass. These are the tombs of Fingal's foes, the sons of the rolling
sea! "

"Dost thou speak to the weak in arms," said Carthon, "bard of the
woody Morven? Have not I seen the fallen Balclutha? And shall I feast
with Fingal, the son of Comhal, who threw his fire in the midst of my
father's hall? I was young, and knew not the cause why the virgins
wept. But when the years of my youth came on, I beheld the moss of my
fallen walls; my sigh arose with the morning, and my tears descended
with night. Shall I not fight, I said to my soul, against the children
of my foes? And I will fight, O bard! I feel the strength of my soul. "

His people gathered round the hero, and drew their shining swords. The
spear trembled in his hand. Bending forward, he seemed to threaten the
king.

"Who of my chiefs," said Fingal, "will meet the son of the rolling sea?
Many are his warriors on the coast, and strong is his ashen spear. "

Cathul rose, in his strength, the son of the mighty Lormar. Three
hundred youths attend the chief, the race of his native streams. Feeble
was his arm against Carthon; he fell, and his heroes fled. Connal
resumed the battle, but he broke his heavy spear; he lay bound on the
field; Carthon pursued his people.

"Clessammor," said the king of Morven, "where is the spear of my
strength? Wilt thou behold Connal bound? "

Clessammor rose in the strength of his steel, shaking his grizzly
locks. He fitted the shield to his side; he rushed, in the pride of
valour.

Carthon saw the hero rushing on, and loved the dreadful joy of his
face; his strength, in the locks of age!

"Stately are his steps of age," he said. "Lovely the remnant of his
years! Perhaps it is the husband of Moina, the father of car-borne
Carthon. Often have I heard that he dwelt at the echoing stream of
Lora. "

Such were his words, when Clessammor came, and lifted high his spear.
The youth received it on his shield, and spoke the words of peace.

"Warrior of the aged locks! Hast thou no son to raise the shield before
his father to meet the arm of youth? What will be the fame of my sword
shouldst thou fall? "

"It will be great, thou son of pride! " began the tall Clessammor. "I
have been renowned in battle, but I never told my name to a foe. Yield
to me, son of the wave; then shalt thou know that the mark of my sword
is in many a field. "

"I never yield, king of spears! " replied the noble pride of Carthon.
"Retire among thy friends! Let younger heroes fight. "

"Why dost thou wound my soul? " replied Clessammor, with a tear. "Age
does not tremble on my hand; I still can lift the sword. Shall I fly
in Fingal's sight, in the sight of him I love? Son of the sea, I never
fled! Exalt thy pointed spear! "

They fought, like two contending winds that strive to roll the wave.
Carthon bade his spear to err; he still thought that the foe was the
spouse of Moina. He broke Clessammor's beamy spear in twain; he seized
his shining sword. But as Carthon was binding the chief, the chief drew
the dagger of his fathers. He saw the foe's uncovered side, and opened
there a wound.

Fingal saw Clessammor low; he moved in the sound of his steel. The
host stood silent in his presence; they turned their eyes to the king.
He came, like the sullen noise of a storm before the winds arise.
Carthon stood in his place; the blood is rushing down his side; he saw
the coming down of the king. Pale was his cheek; his hair flew loose,
his helmet shook on high. The force of Carthon failed, but his soul was
strong.

"King of Morven," Carthon said, "I fall in the midst of my course.
But raise my remembrance on the banks of Lora, where my father dwelt.
Perhaps the husband of Moina will mourn over his fallen Carthon. "

His words reached Clessammor. He fell, in silence, on his son. The host
stood darkened around; no voice is on the plain. Night came; the moon
from the east looked on the mournful field; but still they stood, like
a silent grove that lifts its head on Gormal, when the loud winds are
laid, and dark autumn is on the plain; and then they died.

Fingal was sad for Carthon; he commanded his bards to sing the hero's
praise. Ossian joined them, and this was his song: "My soul has been
mournful for Carthon; he fell in the days of his youth. And thou, O
Clessammor, where is thy dwelling in the wind? Has the youth forgot
his wound? Flies he, on clouds, with thee? Perhaps they may come to my
dreams. I think I hear a feeble voice! The beam of heaven delights to
shine on the grave of Carthon. I feel it warm around.

"O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers! Whence
are thy beams, O sun, thy everlasting light? Thou comest forth in thy
awful beauty; the stars hide themselves in the sky; the moon, cold and
pale, sinks in the western wave. But thou thyself movest alone. Who
can be a companion of thy course? The oaks of the mountains fall; the
mountains themselves decay with years; the ocean shrinks and grows
again; the moon herself is lost in heaven; but thou art for ever the
same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course.

"When the world is dark with tempests; when thunder rolls, and
lightning flies, thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds, and
laughest at the storm. But to Ossian thou lookest in vain, for he
beholds thy beams no more; whether thy yellow hair flows on the eastern
clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of the west. But thou art
perhaps, like me, for a season; thy years will have an end. Thou shalt
sleep in thy clouds; careless of the voice of the morning. Exult thee,
O sun, in the strength of thy youth! Age is dark and unlovely. It is
like the glimmering light of the moon when it shines through broken
clouds and the mist is on the hills; the blast of north is on the
plain; the traveller shrinks in the midst of his journey. "


_II. --Darthula_

Daughter of heaven, fair art thou! The silence of thy face is pleasant!
Thou comest forth in loveliness. The stars attend thy blue course in
the east. The clouds rejoice in thy presence, O moon! Look from thy
gates in the sky. Burst the cloud, O wind, that the daughter of night
may look forth, that the shaggy mountains may brighten, and the ocean
roll its white waves in light!

Nathos is on the deep, and Althos, that beam of youth. Ardan is near
his brothers. They move in the gloom of their course. The sons of
Usnoth move in darkness, from the wrath of Cairbar of Erin. Who is
that, dim, by their side? The night has covered her beauty! Who is it
but Darthula, the first of Erin's maids? She has fled from the love
of Caribar, with blue-shielded Nathos. But the winds deceive thee, O
Darthula! They deny the woody Etha to thy sails. These are not the
mountains of Nathos; nor is that the roar of his climbing waves. The
halls of Cairbar are near; the towers of the foe lift their heads! Erin
stretches its green head into the sea. Tura's bay receives the ship.
Where have ye been, ye southern winds, when the sons of my love were
deceived? But ye have been sporting on plains, pursuing the thistle's
beard. Oh that ye had been rustling in the sails of Nathos till the
hills of Etha arose; till they arose in their clouds, and saw their
returning chief!

Long hast thou been absent, Nathos--the day of thy return is past!
Lovely thou wast in the eyes of Darthula. Thy soul was generous and
mild, like the hour of the setting sun. But when the rage of battle
rose, thou wast a sea in a storm. The clang of thy arms was terrible;
the host vanished at the sound of thy coarse. It was then Darthula
beheld thee from the top of her mossy tower; from the tower of Selama,
where her fathers dwelt.

"Lovely art thou, O stranger! " she said, for her trembling soul arose.
"Fair art thou in thy battles, friend of the fallen Cormac! Why dost
thou rush on in thy valour, youth of the ruddy look? Few are thy hands
in fight against the dark-browed Cairbar!
Oh that I might be freed from
his love--that I might rejoice in the presence of Nathos! "

Such were thy words, Darthula, in Selama's mossy towers. But now the
night is around thee. The winds have deceived thy sails, Darthula!
Cease a little while, O north wind! Let me hear the voice of the
lovely. Thy voice is lovely, Darthula, between the rustling blasts!

"Are these the rocks of Nathos? " she said. "This the roar of his
mountain streams? Comes that beam of light from Usnoth's mighty hall?
The mist spreads around; the beam is feeble and distant far. But the
light of Darthula's soul dwells in the chief of Etha! Son of the
generous Usnoth, why that broken sigh? Are we in the land of strangers,
chief of echoing Etha? "

"These are not the rocks of Nathos," he replied, "nor this the roar
of his streams. We are in the land of strangers, in the land of cruel
Cairbar. The winds have deceived us, Darthula. Erin lifts here her
hills. Go towards the north, Althos; be thy steps, Ardan, along the
coast; that the foe may not come in darkness, and our hopes of Etha
fail. I will go towards that mossy tower to see who dwells about the
beam. "

He went. She sat alone; she heard the rolling of the wave. The big tear
is in her eye. She looks for returning Nathos.

He returned, but his face was dark.

"Why art thou sad, O Nathos? " said the lovely daughter of Colla.

"We are in the land of foes," replied the hero. "The winds have
deceived us, Darthula. The strength of our friends is not near, nor the
mountains of Etha. Where shall I find thy peace, daughter of mighty
Colla? The brothers of Nathos are brave, and his own sword has shone
in fight! But what are the sons of Usnoth to the host of dark-browed
Cairbar? Oh that the winds had brought thy sails, Oscar, king of men!
Thou didst promise to come to the battles of fallen Cormac! Cairbar
would tremble in his halls, and peace dwell round the lovely Darthula.
But why dost thou fall, my soul? The sons of Usnoth may prevail! "

"And they will prevail, O Nathos! " said the rising soul of the maid.
"Never shall Darthula behold the halls of gloomy Cairbar. Give me those
arms of brass, that glitter to the passing meteor. I see them dimly in
the dark-bosomed ship. Darthula will enter the battle of steel. "

Joy rose in the face of Nathos when he heard the white-bosomed maid. He
looks towards the coming of Cairbar. The wind is rustling in his hair.
Darthula is silent at his side. Her look is fixed on the chief. She
strives to hide the rising sigh.

Morning rose with its beams. The sons of Erin appear, like grey rocks,
with all their trees; they spread along the coast. Cairbar stood in the
midst. He grimly smiled when he saw the foe. Nathos rushed forward, in
his strength; nor could Darthula stay behind. She came with the hero,
lifting her shining spear.

"Come," said Nathos to Cairbar--"come, chief of high Temora! Let our
battle be on the coast, for the white-bosomed maid. His people are not
with Nathos; they are behind these rolling seas. Why dost thou bring
thy thousands against the chief of Etha? "

"Youth of the heart of pride," replied Cairbar, "shall Erin's king
fight with thee? Thy fathers were not among the renowned, and Cairbar
does not fight with feeble men! "

The tear started from car-borne Nathos. He turned his eyes to his
brothers. Their spears flew at once. Three heroes lay on earth. Then
the light of their swords gleamed on high. The ranks of Erin yield, as
a ridge of dark clouds before a blast of wind! Then Cairbar ordered his
people, and they drew a thousand bows. A thousand arrows flew. The sons
of Usnoth fell in blood. They fell like three young oaks, which stood
alone on the hill. The traveller saw the lovely trees, and wondered how
they grew so lonely; the blast of the desert came by night, and laid
their green heads low; next day he returned, but they were withered,
and the heath was bare!

Darthula stood in silent grief, and beheld their fall! Pale was her
cheek. Her trembling lips broke short a half-formed word. Her breast
of snow appeared. It appeared; but it was stained with blood. An arrow
was fixed in her side. She fell on the fallen Nathos, like a wreath of
snow! Her hair spreads wide on his face. Their blood is mixing round!

"Daughter of Colla--thou art low! " said Cairbar's hundred bards. "When
wilt thou rise in thy beauty, first of Erin's maids? Thy sleep is
long in the tomb. The sun shall not come to thy bed and say, 'Awake,
Darthula! Awake thou first of women! The wind of spring is abroad. The
flowers shake their heads on the green hills. The winds wave their
growing leaves. ' Retire, O sun, the daughter of Colla is asleep! She
will not come forth in her beauty. She will not move in the steps of
her loveliness! "

Such was the song of the bards when they raised the tomb. I, too, sang
over the grave when the king of Morven came to green Erin to fight with
the car-borne Cairbar!


FOOTNOTES:

[W] No ancient or modern work in the history of literature has
excited such wild admiration and such profound contempt as the "Ossian"
of James Macpherson. It was Napoleon's favourite work; he carried it
with him to Egypt and took it to St. Helena. Byron and Goethe and
Chateaubriand were also touched to enthusiasm by it. Its author--or,
as some still think, its editor--was a Scottish schoolmaster, James
Macpherson, born at Ruthven, in Inverness-shire on October 27, 1736.
The first part of the work, entitled "Fragments of Ancient Poetry,
Collected in the Highlands of Scotland, and Translated from the Gaelic,
or Erse, Language," was published in 1760; "Fingal" appeared in 1762,
and "Temora" in the following year. Doctor Johnson said of Macpherson:
"He has found names, and stories, and phrases, nay, passages in old
songs, and with them has blended his own compositions, and so made
what he gives to the world as the translation of an ancient poem"; and
this verdict is now confirmed by the best authorities. Nevertheless,
"Ossian" is a work of considerable merit and great historic interest.
It contains some fine passages of real poetry, such as the invocation
to the sun with which "Carthon" concludes, and it has served to attract
universal attention to the magnificent Celtic traditions of Scotland
and Ireland. Macpherson died in Inverness-shire on February 17, 1796.




CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE[X]




The Tragical History of Dr. Faustus


_Persons in the Play_

Doctor Faustus
Wagner, _his servant_
Mephistophilis
Lucifer
The Emperor
Benvolio, Martino, Frederick, _gentlemen of the emperor's court_
BRUNO
THE POPE
THREE Scholars, CARDINALS, LORDS, Devils, PHANTOMS,
GOOD _and_ EVIL ANGELS, _etc_. , CHORUS.


ACT I


SCENE I. --FAUSTUS _in his study, reading a volume on necromancy_.

FAUSTUS: All things that move between the quiet poles
Shall be at my command: emperors and kings
Are but obeyed in their several provinces;
But his dominion that excels in this
Stretches as far as does the mind of man.
A sound magician is a demi-god.

[_Enter_ GOOD _and_ EVIL ANGELS.

GOOD ANGEL: O Faustus, lay that damned book aside
And gaze not on it, lest it tempt thy soul,
And heap God's heavy wrath upon thy head!
Read, read the Scriptures--that is blasphemy.

EVIL ANGEL: Go forward, Faustus, in that famous art
Wherein all nature's treasure is contained;
Be thou on earth as Jove is in the sky,
Lord and commander of these elements.
[_Exeunt_ ANGELS.

FAUSTUS: How am I glutted with conceit of this!
Faustus, begin thine incantations,
And try if devils will obey thy hest.

[_Thunder_. FAUSTUS _pronounces the incantation.
Enter_ MEPHISTOPHILIS.

MEPHISTOPHILIS: Now, Faustus, what wouldst thou have me do?

FAUSTUS: I charge thee, wait upon me while I live,
To do whatever Faustus shall command.

MEPHISTOPHILIS: I am a servant to great Lucifer,
And may not follow thee without his leave.

FAUSTUS: Tell me, what is that Lucifer, thy lord?

MEPHISTOPHILIS: Arch-regent and commander of all
spirits.

FAUSTUS: Was not that Lucifer an angel once?

MEPHISTOPHILIS: Yes, Faustus, and most dearly loved of God.

FAUSTUS: How comes it, then, that he is prince of devils?

MEPHISTOPHILIS: Oh, by aspiring pride and insolence,
For which God threw him out from the face of heaven.

FAUSTUS: And what are you that live with Lucifer?

MEPHISTOPHILIS: Unhappy spirits that fell with Lucifer,
conspired against our God with Lucifer,
And are forever damned with Lucifer.

FAUSTUS: Where are you damned?

MEPHISTOPHILIS: In hell.

FAUSTUS: How comes it, then, that you are out of hell?

MEPHISTOPHILIS: Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it.
Think'st thou that I, that saw the face of God,
And tasted the eternal joys of heaven,
Am not tormented with ten thousand hells
In being deprived of everlasting bliss?

FAUSTUS: Go, bear these tidings to great Lucifer:
Seeing Faustus hath incurred eternal death
By desperate thoughts against God's deity, Say
he surrenders up to him his soul,
So he will spare him four-and-twenty years,
Having thee ever to attend on me.
Then meet me in my study at midnight,
And then resolve me of thy master's mind. [_Exeunt_.


SCENE II. --_The same. Midnight_. FAUSTUS. _Enter_ MEPHISTOPHILIS.

FAUSTUS: Now tell me what saith Lucifer, thy lord?

MEPHISTOPHILIS: That I shall wait on Faustus while he lives,
So he will buy my service with his soul,
And write a deed of gift with his own blood.

[FAUSTUS _stabs his own arm, and writes. At the summons
of_ MEPHISTOPHILIS _enter_ DEVILS, _who present_
FAUSTUS _with crowns and rich apparel. Exeunt_
DEVILS. FAUSTUS _reads the deed, by which_ MEPHISTOPHILIS
_is to be at his service for twenty-four years,
at the end of which_ LUCIFER _may claim his soul_.

MEPHISTOPHILIS: Now, Faustus, ask me what thou
wilt.

FAUSTUS: Tell me where is the place that men call
hell?

MEPHISTOPHILIS: Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed
In one self place; but where we are is hell,
And where hell is, there must we ever be;
And, to be short, when all the world dissolves,
And every creature shall be purified,
All places shall be hell that are not heaven.

FAUSTUS: I think hell's a fable.

MEPHISTOPHILIS: Aye, think so still, till experience
change thy mind. [_Exit_.

FAUSTUS: If heaven was made for man, 'twas made for me.
I will renounce this magic and repent.

[_Enter the_ GOOD _and_ EVIL ANGELS.

GOOD ANGEL: Faustus, repent! Yet God will pity
thee.

EVIL ANGEL: Thou art a spirit; God cannot pity thee.

FAUSTUS: My heart is hardened; I cannot repent.

EVIL ANGEL: Too late.

GOOD ANGEL: Never too late, if Faustus will repent.

[_Exeunt_ ANGELS.

FAUSTUS: O Christ, my Saviour, my Saviour,
Help to save distressed Faustus' soul.

[_Enter_ LUCIFER.

LUCIFER: Christ cannot save thy soul, for He is just;
Thou call'st on Christ, contrary to thy promise;
Thou shouldst not think on God; think on the Devil.

FAUSTUS: Nor will Faustus henceforth; pardon him for this,
And Faustus vows never to look to Heaven.


ACT II

SCENE I. --_Rome. Enter_ CHORUS.

CHORUS: Learned Faustus,
To find the secrets of astronomy
Graven in the book of Jove's high firmament,
Did mount him up to scale Olympus' top;
Where, sitting in a chariot burning bright,
Drawn by the strength of yoked dragons' necks,
He views the clouds, the planets, and the stars.
From east to west his dragons swiftly glide,
And in eight days did bring him home again.
Now, mounted new upon a dragon's back,
He, as I guess, will first arrive at Rome
To see the Pope and manner of his court,
And take some part of holy Peter's feast,
The which this day is highly solemnised.

[_Exit. Enter_ FAUSTUS _and_ MEPHISTOPHILIS.

FAUSTUS: Hast thou, as erst I did command,
Conducted me within the walls of Rome?

MEPHISTOPHILIS: This is the goodly palace of the
Pope.

FAUSTUS: Sweet Mephistophilis, thou pleasest me.
Whilst I am here on earth, let me be cloy'd
With all things that delight the heart of man.
My four-and-twenty years of liberty
I'll spend in pleasure and in dalliance.
Now in this show let me an actor be,
That this proud Pope may Faustus' cunning see.

[_Enter_ POPE _and others in procession_; BRUNO,
_nominated pope in opposition by the_ EMPEROR, _in chains_.
FAUSTUS _and_ MEPHISTOPHILIS, _impersonating two
cardinals, are given charge of the condemned_
BRUNO, _whom they liberate and dispatch magically
to the_ EMPEROR. _Subsequently, both being rendered
invisible, they amuse themselves at the expense of
the_ POPE _and his guests at a banquet; and then depart
to the_ EMPEROR'S _court_.

SCENE II. --_Before the_ EMPEROR'S _palace_. BENVOLIO _at a
window. Enter the_ EMPEROR _with his train, including_
FAUSTUS, MEPHISTOPHILIS, BRUNO.

EMPEROR: Wonder of men, renowned magician,
Thrice-learned Faustus, welcome to our court.
Now, Faustus, as thou late didst promise us,
We would behold that famous conqueror,
Great Alexander, and his paramour,
In their true shapes and state majestical.

FAUSTUS: Your majesty shall see them presently.

BENVOLIO: Aye, aye, and thou bring Alexander and
his paramour before the emperor, I'll be Actaeon
and turn myself to a stag.

FAUSTUS: And I'll be Diana and send you the horns
presently.

[_Enter a pageant of Darius, Alexander, etc.