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Settle thy studies, Faustus, and begin
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To sound the depth of that thou wilt profess.
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Having commenced, be a divine in show,
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Yet level at the end of every art,
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And live and die in Aristotle's works.
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Sweet Analytics, 'tis thou hast ravished me!
[He reads.]
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Bene disserere est finis logices.
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Is to dispute well logic's chiefest end?
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Affords this art no greater miracle?
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Then read no more; thou hast attained the end.
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A greater subject fitteth Faustus' wit.
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Bid On kai me on farewell. Galen, come!
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Seeing ubi desinit philosophus, ibi incipit medicus,
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Be a physician, Faustus. Heap up gold,
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And be eternised for some wondrous cure.
[He reads.]
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Summum bonum medicinae sanitas:
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The end of physic is our body's health.
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Why Faustus, hast thou not attained that end?
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Is not thy common talk sound aphorisms?
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Are not thy bills hung up as monuments,
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Whereby whole cities have escaped the plague
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And thousand desp'rate maladies been eased?
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Yet art thou still but Faustus, and a man.
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Wouldst thou make man to live eternally,
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Or, being dead, raise them to life again,
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Then this profession were to be esteemed.
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Physic, farewell! Where is Justinian?
[He reads.]
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Si una eademque res legatur duobus,
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Alter rem, alter valorem rei, etc.
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A pretty case of paltry legacies!
[He reads.]
31
Exhaereditare filium non potest pater nisi—
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Such is the subject of the Institute
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And universal body of the Church.
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His study fits a mercenary drudge
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Who aims at nothing but external trash—
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Too servile and illiberal for me.
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When all is done, divinity is best.
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Jerome's Bible, Faustus, view it well.
[He reads.]
39
Stipendium peccati mors est. Ha!
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Stipendium, etc.
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The reward of sin is death. That's hard.
[He reads.]
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Si peccasse negamus, fallimur
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Et nulla est in nobis veritas.
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If we say that we have no sin,
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We deceive ourselves, and there's no truth in us.
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Why then belike we must sin,
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And so consequently die.
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Ay, we must die an everlasting death.
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What doctrine call you this? Che serà, serà,
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What will be, shall be? Divinity, adieu!
[He picks up a book of magic.]
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These metaphysics of magicians
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And necromantic books are heavenly,
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Lines, circles, signs, letters, and characters—
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Ay, these are those that Faustus most desires.
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Oh, what a world of profit and delight,
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Of power, of honour, of omnipotence
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Is promised to the studious artisan!
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All things that move between the quiet poles
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Shall be at my command. Emperors and kings
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Are but obeyed in their several provinces,
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Nor can they raise the wind or rend the clouds;
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But his dominion that exceeds in this
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Stretcheth as far as doth the mind of man.
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A sound magician is a mighty god.
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Here, Faustus, try thy brains to gain a deity.
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Wagner!
Enter WAGNER
Commend me to my dearest friends,
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The German Valdes and Cornelius.
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Request them earnestly to visit me.