The Life and Death of Doctor Faustus Made into a Farce Part 10

_Ben._ The Devil's alive again?

_Lord._ Give the Devil his Head again.

_Faust._ Nay, keep it; _Faustus_ will have Heads and Hands; I call your Hearts to recompence this Deed.

Ho; _Asteroth_, _Belincoth_, _Mephostopholis_.

_Enter Devils, and Horse 'em upon others._

Go Horse these Traytors on your fiery Backs.

Drag 'em through Dirt and Mud, through Thorns and Briers.

_Lord._ Pity us, gentle _Faustus_, save our Lives.

_Faust._ Away.

_Ben._ He must needs go whom the Devil drives.

[_Spirits fly away._ _Exit_ Faustus.

SCENE _a Hall_.

_Enter_ Harlequin _in a Beggar's Habit_.

_Harl._ I find this _Scaramouche_ is a Villain; he has left the Doctor, and is come to be Steward to a rich Widdow, whose Husband dyed Yesterday, and here he is coming to give the Poor their Doles, of which I'll ha' my Share.

Scaramouche, _and poor People, with a Basket of Bread and Money_.

_Scar._ Come hither, poor Devils; stand in Order, and be d.a.m.n'd. I came to distribute what your deceased good Master hath bequeath'd. [_They all stare at_ Scar.

_Harl._ G.o.d bless you, Mr. Steward.

_Scar._ Let me tell you, Gentlemen, he was as good a Man as ever p.i.s.s'd, or cry'd Stand on the High-way.

[Scaramouche _takes out a Leaf and a Shilling, holds it out, and_ Harlequin _takes it_.

He spent a good Estate, 'tis true; but he was no Body's Foe but his own.

I never left him while he was worth a Groat. [_Again._] He would now and then Curse in his Pa.s.sion, and give a Soul to the Devil, or so; yet, what of that? He always paid his Club, and no Man can say he owes this.

[_Again._] He had a Colt's Tooth, and over-laid one of his Maids; yet, what of that? All Flesh is frail. [_Again._] 'Tis thought that her Body workt him off on his Legs; why, what of that? his Legs were his own, and his a.r.s.e never hung in your Light. [_Again._] Sometimes, you'll say, he wou'd rap out an Oath; what then, Words are but Wind, and he meant no more harm than a sucking Pig does by squeaking. [_Again._] Now let's consider his good Deeds; he brew'd a Firkin of strong Drink for the poor every Year, and kill'd an old Ram every _Easter_: The Meat that was stale, and his Drink that was sowre, was always yours. [_Again._] He allow'd you in Harvest to Glean after his Rake. [_Again._] And now, at his Death, has given you all this. [_Again._

_Scar._ So, setting the Hare's Head against the Goose Giblets, he was a good Hospitable Man; and much good may do you with what you had.

_Poor._ I have had nothing.

_2 Poor._ Nor I.

_3 Po._ Nor I.

_4 Po._ Nor. I.

_Scar._ Nothing.

_All._ Nothing, nothing.

_Scar._ Nothing, nothing; you lying Rogues, then there's something for you. [_Beats 'em all off._

_Enter_ Harlequin _in a Cloak, laughing_.

_Har._ So now I am Victual'd, I may hold out Siege against Hunger. [_A Noise within; this way, this way._

Ha! they are hunting after me, and will kill me. Let me see, I will take this Gibbet for my Preserver, and with this long Cloak make as if I were hang'd. Now when they find a Man hang'd, not knowing me in this Disguise, they'll look no farther after me, but think the Thief's hang'd.----I hear 'em coming. [_Throws himself off the Ladder._

_Enter_ Scaramouche.

_Scar._ Ha! what's here, a Man hang'd? But what Paper is this in his Hand?

[_Whil'st_ Scaramouche _reads_, Harlequin _puts the Rope over him_.

I have cheated the Poor of their Mony, and took the Bread out of their Mouths, for which I was much troubled in Conscience, fell into Dispair, and, as you see, hang'd my self.

[_Pulls him up, and runs out_

O the Devil! Murder, murder!

_Enter_ Poor.

_Poor._ O Neighbours, here hangs the Rogue.

_Scar._ Help me down?

_Poor._ No, you are very well as you are.

_Scar._ Don't you know me?

_Poor._ Ay, for a Rogue; e'en finish your Work, and save the Hang-man a Labour. Yet, now I think on't, self-murder is a crying Sin, and may d.a.m.n his Soul. Come, Neighbours, we'll take him down, and have him hang'd according to Law. [_When he's down he trips up their Heels, and runs out, they after him._

_All._ Stop Thief, stop Thief.

_Thunder and Lightning_; Lucifer, Beelzebub, _and_ Mephostopholis.

_Luc._ Thus from the infernal _Dis_ do we ascend, bringing with us the Deed; the Time is come which makes it forfeit.

_Enter_ Faustus, _an old Man, and a Scholar_.

_Old M._ Yet, _Faustus_, call on Heav'n.

_Faust._ Oh! 'tis too late; behold, they lock my Hands.

_Old M._ Who, _Faustus_?