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I charge thee wait upon me whilst I live, To do whatever Faustus shall command, Be it to make the moon drop from her sphere, Or the ocean to overwhelm the world.
Go forward, Faustus, in that famous 45 art.
Sweet Faustus, leave that execrable art.
Lo, Mephistophilis, for love of thee, Faustus hath cut his arm, and with his proper blood Assures his soul to be great Lucifer’s, Chief lord and regent of perpetual night! View here this blood that trickles from mine arm, And let it be propitious for my wish.
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