The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus: A Play Written by Christopher Marlowe

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J.M. Dent, 1905 - 111 Seiten
 

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Seite 84 - Her lips suck forth my soul! See where it flies; Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again. Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips, And all is dross that is not Helena.
Seite 4 - If we say that we have no sin we deceive ourselves, and there's no truth in us. Why, then, belike we must sin, and so consequently die. Ay, we must die an everlasting death. What doctrine call you this, Che sera sera, What will be, shall be?
Seite 21 - Lo, Mephistophilis, for love of thee, I cut mine arm, and with my proper blood Assure my soul to be great Lucifer's, Chief lord and regent of perpetual night ! View here the blood that trickles from mine arm, And let it be propitious for my wish.
Seite 27 - And long ere this I should have slain myself, Had not sweet pleasure conquer'd deep despair. Have not I made blind Homer sing to me Of Alexander's love and Oenon's death? And hath not he, that built the walls of Thebes With ravishing sound of his melodious harp, Made music with my Mephistophilis?
Seite 85 - O, thou art fairer than the evening air Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars; Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter When he appeared to hapless Semele: More lovely than the monarch of the sky In wanton Arethusa's azured arms : And none but thou shalt be my paramour!
Seite 7 - Faustus, these books, thy wit, and our experience, Shall make all nations to canonize us. As Indian Moors obey their Spanish lords, So shall the spirits of every element Be always serviceable to us three ; Like lions shall they guard us when we please ; Like Almain rutters...
Seite 4 - All things that move between the quiet poles Shall be at my command: emperors and kings Are but obeyed in their several provinces, Nor can they raise the wind, or rend the clouds; But his dominion that exceeds in this, Stretcheth as far as doth the mind of man; A sound magician is a mighty god : Here, Faustus, tire thy brains to gain a deity.
Seite 21 - Homo, fuge : whither should I fly ? If unto God, he'll throw me down to hell. My senses are deceiv'd; here's nothing writ: — I see it plain; here in this place is writ, Homo, fuge : yet shall not Faustus fly.
Seite 21 - What might the staying of my blood portend? - Is it unwilling I should write this bill? Why streams it not that I may write afresh? Faustus gives to thee his soul.
Seite 83 - Accursed Faustus, where is mercy now? I do repent; and yet I do despair; Hell strives with grace for conquest in my breast : What shall I do to shun the snares of death? MEPH. Thou traitor, Faustus, I arrest thy soul For disobedience to my sovereign lord; Revolt, or I'll in piecemeal tear thy flesh.

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