mighty Carolus.           [Exeunt.]       Enter BENVOLIO, MARTINO, FREDERICK, and SOLDIERS. MARTINO. Nay, sweet Benvolio, let us sway 174 thy thoughts From this attempt against the conjurer. 175 BENVOLIO. Away! you love me not, to urge me thus:      Shall I let slip so great an injury, When every servile groom jests at my wrongs, And in their rustic gambols proudly say,      "Benvolio's head was grac'd with horns today?"      O, may these eyelids never close again, Till with my sword I have that 176 conjurer slain! If you will aid me in this enterprise, Then draw your weapons and be resolute; If not, depart:  here will Benvolio die, But Faustus' death shall quit my 177 infamy. FREDERICK. Nay, we will stay with thee, betide what may, And kill that 178 doctor, if he come this way. BENVOLIO. Then, gentle Frederick, hie thee to the grove, And place our servants and our followers Close in an 179 ambush there behind the trees. By this, I know the conjurer is near:      I saw him kneel, and kiss the Emperor's hand, And take his leave, laden with rich rewards. Then, soldiers, boldly 180 fight:  if Faustus die, Take you the wealth, leave us the victory. FREDERICK. Come, soldiers, follow me unto the grove:      Who kills him shall have gold and endless love.           [Exit FREDERICK with SOLDIERS.]       BENVOLIO. My head is lighter, than it was, by the horns; But yet my heart's 181 more ponderous than my head, And pants until I see that 182 conjurer dead. MARTINO. Where shall we place ourselves, Benvolio? BENVOLIO. Here will we stay to bide the first assault:      O, were that damned hell-hound but in place, Thou soon shouldst see me quit my foul disgrace! Re-enter FREDERICK. FREDERICK. Close, close! the conjurer is at hand, And all alone comes walking in his gown; Be ready, then, and strike the 183 peasant down. BENVOLIO. Mine be that honour, then. Now, sword, strike home! For horns he gave I'll have his head anon. MARTINO. See, see, he comes! Enter FAUSTUS with a false head. BENVOLIO. No words. This blow ends all:      Hell take his soul! his body thus must fall.           [Stabs FAUSTUS.]       FAUSTUS. [falling.] O! FREDERICK. Groan you, Master Doctor? BENVOLIO. Break may his heart with groans!—Dear Frederick, see, Thus will I end his griefs immediately. MARTINO. Strike with a willing hand.           [BENVOLIO strikes off FAUSTUS' head.]                                            His head is off. BENVOLIO. The devil's dead; the Furies now 184 may laugh. FREDERICK. Was this that stern aspect, that awful frown,      

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