t us and hell without trembling.
Faustus, art thou become dumb of a sudden?

_Faustus_. Not from fear, I assure thee. I have been bold to one much
mightier than thyself, and therefore am I here.

_Satan_. Hey! carry the saucy hound to the pool of the damned; and after
being soused therein, let him be well scourged by a legion of my most
active pages, in order that he may become a little acquainted with the
rules of these regions.

A devil dragged Faustus to the pool; the legion swarmed after him.

_Leviathan_ (_perceiving the Pope_). Ah! welcome, Pope Alexander. I
hope you no longer feel any desire to make a Ganymede of the Devil.

_Pope_ (_sighing_). No, alas!

_Satan_. Ha, ha, ha! This is now a good specimen of the men who at
present ravage the earth; but let them once get to the new world, and
they will make it a theatre of crimes which will put the old one to
shame.

_Pope_. Would that I could be there too!

_Satan_. A wish truly worthy of a pope; but console thyself,--thy
countrymen will murder millions of men for their gold.

_Pope_. What will men not do for gold?

Faustus came back with his fiendish attendants.

_Satan_. Well, Faustus, how do you like your bath, and those that rubbed
you dry?

_Faustus_. Maddening and intolerable thought, that the noble and
ethereal part of man must expiate the sins of a body formed of clay!

The devils laughed till the vaults reechoed.

_Satan_. Bravo, Faustus! I am convinced, from thy words and behaviour,
that thou art too good for a man. I am, besides, much indebted to thee
for having invented Printing, that art which is so singularly useful to
us.

_Pope_. What, a printer! He gave himself out at my court for a
gentleman, and won my daughter Lucretia!

_Faustus_. Silence, proud Spaniard. I paid her richly; and thou wouldst
have prostituted thyself to me for a like sum, if I had been one of thine
own stamp. My noble invention will sow more good, and will be more
profitable to the human race, than all the popes from St. Peter down to
thyself.

_Satan_. Thou art mistaken, Faustus. In the first place, men will rob
thee of the honour of having invented this art.

_Faustus_. That is worse than damnation.

_Satan_. Observe now this man: he stands before me, the ruler here, and
holds everlasting torments as nothing when compared with the loss of his
fame and glory, those chimeras of his overheated brain. In the second
place, Faustus,