d the Prince on his magnificent couch, then seized the
trembling favourite and hurled him among the burning sands of Libya. He
then returned to Faustus, and cried, "The deed is done!" They once more
mounted the rapid winds, and sailed out of the country.

Faustus sat, melancholy, upon his horse; for, after they had passed the
frontiers, the Devil had changed their method of travelling. The history
of the minister still gnawed his heart, and he was stung to the quick at
being obliged to acknowledge that the Devil had as yet been right in
respect to men; and the bitterness of his spirit increased in proportion
as they displayed themselves to him in their true colours. Yet the idea
of having avenged the unfortunate minister upon the hypocrites cheered
him in the midst of his gloomy sorrows. Pride by degrees so inflated his
heart, that he almost began to consider his alliance with the Devil as
the act of a man who yields up his soul for the good of his race, and
thereby surpasses all the heroes of antiquity, who merely sacrificed
their temporal existence; nay more, for as they sacrificed themselves for
the sake of glory, or for a recompense,--which he, on account of his
engagement, could entertain no hopes of,--so at last he imagined that
they were not worthy to stand for a moment in comparison with him. Thus,
place men in whatever situation you will, they soon begin to feel happy,
provided their self-love has an opportunity of working; for self-love can
even gild the yawning gulf of hell, as in the case of Faustus. He
forgot, in his pride, the motives of his alliance with the Devil, and his
thirst for pleasure and enjoyment; and while he sat upon his horse, his
imagination dubbed him the knight-errant of virtue and the champion of
innocence. The Devil rode by his side without once disturbing his
meditations; for he only saw in each of these would-be noble feelings the
sources of future torment and despair. His hatred of Faustus, however,
increased in proportion as the ideal prospects of the latter brightened
and expanded; he enjoyed, in anticipation, the hour when all these airy
visions would melt and disappear, and all these painted images of fancy
would deck themselves in the livery of hell, and tear the rash one's
heart as the heart of mortal had never yet been torn. After a long
silence, Faustus suddenly exclaimed: "Tell me how it fares with the false
favourite."

_Devil_. He pants upon the scorched sands, a