Christopher Marlowe

Ay, Faustus, now hast thou no hope of heaven

Therefore despair! Think only upon hell,

For that must be thy mansion, there to dwell.

Now, Faustus, must thou needs be damned?

And canst thou not be saved?

What boots it then to think on God or heaven?

Away with such vain fancies and despair,

Despair in God and trust in Beelzebub.

Now go not backward. No, Faustus, be resolute.

Why waverest thou? Oh, something soundeth in mine ears

Abjure this magic, turn to God again.

Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships,

And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?

Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss!

If we say that we have no sin

We deceive ourselves, and there is no truth in us.

Why then, belike, we must sin,

And consequently die.

Ay, we must die an everlasting death.

O lente, lente currite, noctis equi!

The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike,

The Devil will come, and Faustus must be damn'd.

O, I'll leap up to my God! Who pulls me down?

See, see, where Christ's blood streams in the firmament!

One drop would save my soul, half a drop: ah, my Christ.

When all the world dissolves,

And every creature shall be purified,

All places shall be hell that are not heaven.

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.

Now hast thou but one bare hour to live,

And then thou must be damn'd perpetually!

Stand still, you ever-moving spheres of Heaven,

That time may cease, and midnight never come;

Fair Nature's eye, rise, rise again, and make

Perpetual day; or let this hour be but

A year, a month, a week, a natural day,

That Faustus may repent and save his soul.

Oh gentle Faustus, leave this damned art,

This magic, that will charm thy soul to hell,

And quite bereave thee of salvation.

Though thou hast now offended like a man,

Do not persever in it like a devil.

Why this is hell, nor am I out of it.

Think'st thou that I, who saw the face of God,

And tasted the eternal joy of Heaven,

Am not tormented with ten thousand hells

In being depriv'd of everlasting bliss?

Pray for me! and what noise soever ye hear, come not unto me, for nothing can rescue me.

Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscrib'd

In one self place; but where we are is hell,

And where hell is, there must we ever be.