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,
Made the grim monarch of infernal spirits
Tremble and quake at his commanding charms?
MARTINO. Was this that damned head, whose art<185> conspir'd
Benvolio's shame before the Emperor?
BENVOLIO. Ay, that's the head, and there<186> the body lies,
Justly rewarded for his villanies.
FREDERICK. Come, let's devise how we may add more shame
To the black scandal of his hated name.
BENVOLIO. First, on his head, in quittance of my wrongs,
I'll nail huge forked horns, and let them hang
Within the window where he yok'd me first,
That all the world may see my just revenge.
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