CLOWN. No, no; here, take your gridirons again.
CLOWN. Bear witness I give them you again.
WAGNER. Well, I will cause two devils presently to fetch thee away.--Baliol and Belcher!
CLOWN. Let your Baliol and your Belcher come here, and I'll knock them, they were never so knocked since they were devils: say I should kill one of them, what would folks say? "Do ye see yonder tall fellow in the round slop?[73] he has killed the devil." So I should be called Kill-devil all the parish over.
Enter two DEVILS; and the CLOWN runs up and down crying.
WAGNER. Baliol and Belcher,--spirits, away! [Exeunt DEVILS.]
CLOWN. What, are they gone? a vengeance on them! they have vile[74] long nails. There was a he-devil and a she-devil: I'll tell you how you shall know them; all he-devils has horns, and all she-devils has clifts and cloven feet.
CLOWN. But, do you hear? if I should serve you, would you teach me to raise up Banios and Belcheos?
WAGNER. I will teach thee to turn thyself to any thing, to a dog, or a cat, or a mouse, or a rat, or any thing.
CLOWN. How! a Christian fellow to a dog, or a cat, a mouse, or a rat! no, no, sir; if you turn me into any thing, let it be in the likeness of a little pretty frisking flea, that I may be here and there and every where: O, I'll tickle the pretty wenches' plackets! I'll be amongst them, i'faith.
CLOWN. O Lord! I pray, sir, let Banio and Belcher go sleep.
WAGNER. Villain, call me Master Wagner, and let thy left eye be diametarily fixed upon my right heel, with quasi vestigiis nostris[75] insistere. [Exit.]
CLOWN. God forgive me, he speaks Dutch fustian. Well, I'll follow him; I'll serve him, that's flat. [Exit.]
FAUSTUS. Now, Faustus, must Thou needs be damn'd, and canst thou not be sav'd: What boots it, then, to think of God or heaven? Away with such vain fancies, and despair; Despair in God, and trust in Belzebub: Now go not backward; no, Faustus, be resolute: Why waver'st thou? O, something soundeth in mine ears, "Abjure this magic, turn to God again!" Ay, and Faustus will turn to God again. To God? he loves thee not; The god thou serv'st is thine own appetite, Wherein is fix'd the love of Belzebub: To him I'll build an altar and a church, And offer lukewarm blood of new-born babes.