And, without ground, feared what themselves had feigned.

Nor were the commons only strook to heart

With this vain terror; but the court, the senate,

The fathers selves leaped from their seats, and, flying,

Left hateful war decreed to both the consuls. Then, with their fear and danger alldistract,

Their sway of flight carries the heady rout, That in chained troops break forth at every port:

You would have thought their houses had been fired,

Or, dropping-ripe, ready to fall with ruin.
So rushed the inconsiderate multitude
Thorough the city, hurried headlong on,
As if the only hope that did remain
To their afflictions were t' abandon Rome.
Look how, when stormy Auster from the
breach

Of Libyan Syrtes rolls a monstrous wave, Which makes the mainsail fall with hideous sound,

The pilot from the helm leaps in the sea, And mariners, albeit the keel be sound, Shipwreck themselves; even so, the city left,

All rise in arms; nor could the bed-rid pa

rents

Keep back their sons, or women's tears their husbands:

They stayed not either to pray or sacrifice; Their household-gods restrain them not; none lingered,

As loth to leave Rome whom they held so dear:

Th' irrevocable people fly in troops.
Oh, gods, that easy grant men great estates,
But hardly grace to keep them! Rome, that
flows

With citizens and captives, and would hold
The world, were it together, is by cowards
Left as a prey, now Cæsar doth approach.
When Romans are besieged by foreign
foes,

With slender trench they escape night-stratagems,

And sudden rampire raised of turf snatched up,

Would make them sleep securely in their

tents.

Thou, Rome, at name of war runn'st from thyself,

And wilt not trust thy city-walls one night: Well might these fear, when Pompey feared and fled.

Now evermore, lest some one hope might

ease

The commons' jangling minds, apparent signs arose,

Strange sights appeared; the angry threatening gods

Filled both the earth and seas with prodigies.

Great store of strange and unknown stars

were seen

Wandering about the north, and rings of fire

Fly in the air, and dreadful bearded stars, And comets that presage the fall of kingdoms;

The flattering sky glittered in often flames, And sundry fiery meteors blazed in heaven, Now spear-like long, now like a spreading torch;

Lightning in silence stole forth without clouds,

And, from the northern climate snatching fire,

Blasted the Capitol; the lesser stars, Which wont to run their course through empty night,

At noon-day mustered; Phoebe, having filled

Her meeting horns to match her brother's light,

Strook with th' earth's sudden shadow, waxed pale;

Titan himself, throned in the midst of hea

ven,

His burning chariot plunged in sable clouds, And whelmed the world in darkness, making

men

Despair of day, as did Thyestes' town, Mycenæ, Phœbus flying through the east. Fierce Mulciber unbarred Ætna's gate, Which flamed not on high, but headlong pitched

Her burning head on bending Hespery. Coal black Charybdis whirled a sea of blood.

Fierce mastives howled. The vestal fires went out;

The flame in Alba, consecrate to Jove, Parted in twain, and with a double point Rose, like the Theban brothers' funeral fire. The earth went off her hinges; and the Alps

Shook the old snow from off their trembling laps.

The ocean swelled as high as Spanish Calpe Or Atlas' head. Their saints and household gods

Sweat tears, to show the travails of their city:

Those that inhabited the suburb-fields
Fled: foul Erinnys stalked about the walls,
Shaking her snaky hair and crooked pine
With flaming top; much like that hellish
fiend

Which made the stern Lycurgus wound his thigh,

Or fierce Agave mad; or like Megæra
That scared Alcides, when by Juno's task
He had before looked Pluto in the face.
Trumpets were heard to sound; and with
what noise

An armed battle joins, such and more strange

Black night brought forth in secret. Sylla's ghost

Was seen to walk, singing sad oracles;
And Marius' head above cold Tav'ron peering.
His grave broke open, did affright the boors.
To these ostents, as their old custom was,
They call th' Etrurian augurs: amongst
whom

The gravest, Arruns, dwelt in forsaken
Luca,

Well-skilled in pyromancy; one that knew The hearts of beasts, and flight of wandering fowls.

First he commands such monsters Nature hatched

Against her kind, the barren mules' loathed issue,

To be cut forth and cast in dismal fires; Then, that the trembling citizens should walk

About the city; then, the sacred priests That with divine lustration purged the walls, And went the round, in and without the town;

Next, an inferior troop, in tucked-up vestures, After the Gabine manner; then, the nuns And their veiled matron, who alone might view

Minerva's statue; then, they that keep and read

Sibylla's secret works, and wash their saint In Almo's flood; next, learnèd augurs follow;

Apollo's soothsayers, and Jove's feasting priests;

The skipping Salii with shields like wedges;| And Flamens last, with net-work woollen veils.

While these thus in and out had circled Rome,

Look what the lightning blasted, Arruns takes,

And it inters with murmurs dolorous,

And calls the place Bidental. On the altar He lays a ne'er-yoked bull, and pours down wine,

Then crams salt leaven on his crooked knife: The beast long struggled, as being like to prove

An awkward sacrifice; but by the horns The quick priest pulled him on his knees, and slew him :

No vein sprung out, but from the yawning gash,

Instead of red blood, wallowed venomous gore.

These direful signs made Arruns stand amazed,

And searching farther for the god's displeasure,

The very colour scared him; a dead black

ness

Ran through the blood, that turned it all to jelly,

And stained the bowels with dark loathsome spots;

The liver swelled with filth; and every vein Did threaten horror from the host of Cæsar; A small thin skin contained the vital parts; The heart stirred not; and from the gaping liver

Squeezed matter through the caul; the entrails peered ;

And which (ah me!) ever pretendeth ill,
At that bunch where the liver is, appeared
A knob of flesh, whereof one half did look
Dead and discoloured, the other lean and
thin.

By these he seeing what mischiefs must ensue,
Cried out, " Oh, gods, I tremble to unfold
What you intend! great Jove is now dis-
pleased;

And in the breast of this slain bull are crept

Th' infernal powers. My fear transcends my words;

Yet more will happen than I can unfold: Turn all to good, be augury vain, and Tages, Th' art's master, false !" Thus, in ambiguous

terms

Involving all, did Arruns darkly sing.

But Figulus, more seen in heavenly mysteries,
Whose like Ægyptian Memphis never had
For skill in stars and tuneful planeting,
In this sort spake: "The world's swift
course is lawless

And casual; all the stars at random range;
Or if Fate rule them, Rome, thy citizens
Are near some plague. What mischief shall
ensue?

Shall towns be swallowed? shall the thickened

air

Become intemperate? shall the earth be barren !

| Shall water be congealed and turned to ice? Oh, gods, what death prepare ye? with what plague

Mean ye to rage? the death of many men Meets in one period. If cold noisome Saturn

Were now exalted, and with blue beams shined,

Then Ganymede would renew Deucalion's flood,

And in the fleeting sea the earth be drenched. Oh, Phoebus, shouldst thou with thy rays now singe

The fell Nemæan beast, th' earth would be fired,

And heaven tormented with thy chafing heat: But thy fires hurt not. Mars, 'tis thou inflam'st

The threatening Scorpion with the burning tail,

And fir'st his cleyes: why art thou thus enraged?

Kind Jupiter hath low declined himself; Venus is faint; swift Hermes retrograde; Mars only rules the heaven. Why do the planets

Alter their course, and vainly dim their virtue? Sword-girt Orion's side glisters too bright: War's rage draws near; and to the sword's strong hand

Let all laws yield, sin bear the name of virtue :

Many a year these furious broils let last : Why should we wish the gods should ever end them?

War only gives us peace. Oh, Rome, continue

The course of mischief, and stretch out the date

Of slaughter! only civil broils make peace."
These sad presages were enough to scare
The quivering Romans; but worse things
affright them.

As Mænas full of wine on Pindus raves,
So runs a matron through th' amazed streets,
Disclosing Phoebus' fury in this sort:
Pæan, whither am I haled? where shall
I fall,

Thus borne aloft? I see Pangæus' hill
With hoary top, and, under Hæmus' mount,
Philippi plains. Phoebus, what rage is
this?

Why grapples Rome, and makes war, having no foes?

Whither turn I now? thou lead'st me toward th' east,

Where Nile augmenteth the Pelusian sea:
This headless trunk that lies on Nilus' sand
I know. Now throughout the air I fly
To doubtful Syrtes and dry Afric, where
A Fury leads the Emathian bands. From
thence

To the pine-bearing hills; thence to the

mounts

Pyrene; and so back to Rome again.
See, impious war defiles the senate-house!
New factions rise. Now through the world
again

I go. Oh, Phoebus, show me Neptune's shore,

And other regions! I have seen Philippi." This said, being tired with fury, she sunk down.

Only this, gentlemen-we must perform The form of Faustus' fortunes, good or

bad;

To patient judgments we appeal our plaud,
And speak for Faustus in his infancy.
Now is he born, his parents base of stock,
In Germany, within a town called Rhodes;
Of riper years to Wertenberg he went,
Whereas his kinsmen chiefly brought him
up.

So soon he profits in Divinity,

The fruitful plot of scholarism graced,
That shortly he was graced with Doctor's

name,

Excelling all whose sweet delight disputes In heavenly matters of Theology;

Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount above his reach,

And, melting, heavens conspired his overthrow;

For falling to a devilish exercise,
And glutted now with learning's golden
gifts,

He surfeits upon cursed Necromancy.
Nothing so sweet as Magic is to him,
Which he prefers before his chiefest bliss.
And this the Man that in his Study sits!

Faustus in his Study.

[Exit.

Faust. Settle thy studies, Faustus, and begin To sound the depth of that thou wilt profess;

Having commenced be a Divine in show,
Yet level at the end of every Art,
And live and die in Aristotle's works.
Sweet Analytics, 'tis thou hast ravished me,
Bene disserere est finis logices.

Is to dispute well Logic's chiefest end?
Affords this Art no greater miracle?
Then read no more, thou hast attained that
end;

A greater subject fitteth Faustus' wit:
Bid Economy farewell and Galen come,
Seeing Ubi desinit Philosophus ibi incipit
Medicus,

Be a physician, Faustus, heap up gold