OLD MAN. Ah, stay, good Faustus, stay thy desperate steps! I see an angel hovers o'er thy head, And, with a vial full of precious grace, Offers to pour the same into thy soul:      Then call for mercy, and avoid despair. FAUSTUS. Ah, my sweet friend, I feel Thy words to comfort my distressed soul! Leave me a while to ponder on my sins. OLD MAN. I go, sweet Faustus; but with heavy cheer, Fearing the ruin of thy hopeless soul.           [Exit.]       FAUSTUS. 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?       MEPHIST. Thou traitor, Faustus, I arrest thy soul For disobedience to my sovereign lord:      Revolt, or I'll in piece-meal tear thy flesh. FAUSTUS. Sweet Mephistophilis, entreat thy lord To pardon my unjust presumption, And with my blood again I will confirm My former vow I made to Lucifer. MEPHIST. Do it, then, quickly,159 with unfeigned heart, Lest greater danger do attend thy drift. FAUSTUS. Torment, sweet friend, that base and crooked age, That durst dissuade me from thy Lucifer, With greatest torments that our hell affords. MEPHIST. His faith is great; I cannot touch his soul; But what I may afflict his body with I will attempt, which is but little worth. FAUSTUS. One thing, good servant,160 let me crave of thee, To glut the longing of my heart's desire,—      That I might have unto my paramour That heavenly Helen which I saw of late, Whose sweet embracings may extinguish clean Those161 thoughts that do dissuade me from my vow, And keep mine oath I made to Lucifer. MEPHIST. Faustus, this,162 or what else thou shalt desire, Shall be perform'd in twinkling of an eye. Re-enter HELEN. FAUSTUS. Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships, And burnt the topless163 towers of Ilium—      Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.—           [Kisses her.]      Her lips suck forth my soul:  see, where it flies!—      Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again. Here will I dwell, for heaven is164 in these lips, And all is dross that is not Helena. I will be Paris, and for love of thee, Instead of Troy, shall Wertenberg be sack'd; And I will combat with weak Menelaus, And wear thy colours on my plumed crest; Yea, I will wound Achilles in the heel, And then return to Helen for a kiss. O, thou art fairer than the evening air Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars; Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter When he appear'd to hapless Semele; More lovely than the monarch of the 

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