The Life and Death of Doctor Faustus Made into a Farce - LightNovelsOnl.com
You're reading novel online at LightNovelsOnl.com. Please use the follow button to get notifications about your favorite novels and its latest chapters so you can come back anytime and won't miss anything.
_Scar._ Your unseasonable Thankfulness has rob'd us of our Strumpet.
_Har._ No matter, no matter; we shall meet her in the Cloisters after the Fair. Come let's fall too.
[_They put their Caps before their Faces._
Ha!
_Scar._ The Table runs away from us.
_Har._ We'll bestow the Pains to follow it again; this I see is a running Banquet.
[_They put their Caps on again, the Table removes._
_Scar._ I have found the Secret: We must not say Grace at the Devil's Feast.
_Har._ Come then let's fall too, _San's_ Ceremony; Will you be Carver?
_Scar._ Every one for himself, I say.
_Har._ Ay, every one for himself, and G.o.d for us all.
[_Table flies up into the Air._
_Scar._ A Plague o'your Proverb; it has a Word in't must not be named.
_Har._ Ah, Mr. Doctor, do but intreat Mr. _Mephostopholis_ to let the Table down to us, or send us to that, and I'll be his Servant as long as I live. [_They are hoisted up to the Table._
_Scar. and Har._ Oh, oh, oh.
_Scar._ Now have a care of another Proverb: We go without our Supper.
_Har._ Nay, now I know the Devil's Humour, I'll hit him to a Hair: Pray, Mr. Doctor, cut up that Pasty.
_Scar._ I can't get my Knife into it, 'tis over-bak'd.
_Har._ Ay, 'tis often so: G.o.d sends Meat, and the Devil sends Cooks.
[_Table flies down._
_Scar._ Thou Varlet, dost thou see what thy Proverb has done?
_Har._ Now could I curse my Grand-mother, for she taught 'em me: Well, if sweet _Mephostopholis_ will be so kind as but to let us and the Table come together again, I'll promise never to say Grace, or speak Proverb more, as long as I live.
[_They are let down to the Table._
_Scar._ Your Prayers are heard, now be careful; for if I lose my Supper by thy Negligence I'll cut thy Throat.
_Har._ Do, and eat me when you have done. I am d.a.m.nably hungry; I'll cut open this Pasty, while you open that Pot of wild Fowl.
[Harlequin _takes off the Lid of the Pasty, and a Stag's Head peeps out; and out of the Pot of Fowl flies Birds_. Harlequin _and_ Scaramouche _start back, fall over their Chairs, and get up_.
_Har._ Here's the Nest but the Birds are flown: Here's Wine though, and now I'll conjure for a Supper. I have a Sallad within of my own Gathering in the Fields to Day.
_Scar._ Fetch it in; Bread, Wine, and a Salad may serve for a Collation.
_Enter_ Harlequin _with a Tray of Sallad_.
_Har._ Come, no Ceremony among Friends. _Bon. fro._
_Scar._ _Sallad mal adjuste_; here's neither Fat nor Lean.
_Har._ O Mr. Doctor, neither Fat nor Lean in a Sallad.
_Scar._ Neither Oyl, nor Vinegar.
_Har._ Oh! I'll fetch you that presently.
[Harlequin _fetches a Chamber-pot of p.i.s.s, and a Lamp of Oyl, and pours on the Sallad_.
_Scar._ O thy Sallad is nothing but Thistles and Netles; and thy Oyl stinks worse than _a.r.s.efet.i.to_.
_Har._ Bread and Wine be our Fare. Ha! the Bread's alive. [_Bread stirs._
_Scar._ Or the Devil's in't. Hey! again. [_Bread sinks._
_Har._ My Belly's as empty as a Beggar's Purse.
_Scar._ And mine as full of Wind as a Trumpeter's Cheeks.
[_Table sinks, and Flash of Lightning._
But since we can't Eat, let's Drink: Come, here's Dr. _Faustus_'s Health.
_Har._ Ay, come; G.o.d bless Dr. _Faustus_.
[_Bottles fly up, and the Table sinks._
_Scar._ What all gone: Here's a Banquet stole away like a City Feast.
[_Musick._
_Har._ Ha! here's Musick to delight us.
[_Two Chairs rises._ Harlequin _and_ Scaramouche _sits down, and are caught fast_.
_Scar._ Ha! the Devil. We are lock'd in.
_Har._ As fast as a Counter Rat.
_Enter several Devils, who black_ Harlequin _and_ Scaramouche's _Faces, and then squirt Milk upon them_. _After the Dance they both sink._
