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Fau.
1135Now, Mephistophilis, the restless course that time
doth run with calm and silent foot,
Shortening my days and thread of vital life,
Calls for the payment of my latest years.

Therefore, sweet Mephistophilis, let us make haste to Wer-
tenberg.


Me.
What, will you go on horse back, or on foot?


Fau.
Nay, 'til I am past this faire and pleasant green, I'll
walk on foot. Enter a Horse-courser.


Hors.
I have been all this day seeking one master Fu-
stian: mass, see where he is. God save you, Master Doctor.


Fau.
What, horse-courser; you are well met.


Hors.
Do you hear sir? I have brought you forty dol-
lars for your horse.


Fau.
I cannot sell him so. If thou lik'st him for fifty, take
him.


Hors.
Alas sir, I have no more; I pray you speak for
me.


Me.
I pray you let him have him; he is an honest fellow,
and he has a great charge, neither wife nor child.


Fau.
Well, come give me your money. My boy will deli-
ver him to you, but I must tell you one thing before you have
him: ride him not into the water at any hand.


Hors.
Why sir, will he not drink of all waters?


Fau.
O yes, he will drink of all waters, but ride him not
into the water: ride him over hedge or ditch, or where thou
wilt, but not into the water.


Hors.
Well, sir Now am I made man forever. I'll not
leave my horse for forty. Aside.
If he had but the quality of hey-
ding-ding, hey-ding-ding, I'd make a brave living on him;
he has a buttock so slick as an eel. Well, God buy sir; your
boy will deliver him me. But hark ye, sir, if my horse be sick, or
ill at ease, if I bring his water to you, you'll tell me what is?
Exit Horse-courser


Fau.
Away, you villain; what, dost think I am a horse-
doctor? What art thou, Faustus, but a man condemned to die?

Thy fatal time doth draw to final end;
Despair doth drive distrust unto my thoughts:
Confound these passions with a quiet sleep.
Tush, Christ did call the thief upon the cross,
1175Then rest thee, Faustus, quiet in conceit. Sleeps in his chair.


Enter Horse-courser all wet, crying.


Hors.
Alas, alas! Doctor Fustian, quotha? Mass, Doctor
Lopus was never such a Doctor. Has given me a purgation
has purged me of forty dollars; I shall never see them more.
But yet, like an ass as I was, I would not be ruled by him,
for he bade me I should ride him into no water. Now I, thin-
king my horse had had some rare quality that he would not
have had me known of, I, like a venturous youth, rid him in-
to the deep pond at the town's end. I was no sooner in the
middle of the pond, but my horse vanished away, and I sat up-
on a bottle of hey, never so near drowning in my life. But
I'll seek out my Doctor, and have my forty dollars again,
or I'll make it the dearest horse. O, yonder is his snipper-
snapper, do you hear? You, hey, pass, where's your
master?


Me.
Why sir, what would you? You cannot speak
with him.


Hors.
But I will speak with him.


Me.
Why, he's fast asleep; come some other time.


Hors.
I'll speak with him now, or I'll break his glass-
windows about his ears.


Me.
I tell thee he has not slept this eight nights.


Hors.
And he have not slept this eight weeks I'll speak
with him.


Me.
See where he is fast asleep.


Hors.
Ay, this is he; God save ye Master Doctor, Master
Doctor, Master Doctor Fustian, forty dollars, forty dollars
for a bottle of hey.


Me.
Why, thou seest he hears thee not.


Hors.
So, ho, ho; so, ho, ho. Hollars in his ear.
No, will you not wake? I'll make you wake ere I go.
Pulls Faustus by the leg, and pulls it away.
Alas, I am undone! What shall I do?


Fau.
O, my leg, my leg, help Mephistophilis, call the
officers, my leg, my leg.


Me.
Come, villain, to the Constable.


Hors.
O Lord sir, let me go, and I'll give you forty dol-
lars more.


Me.
Where be they?


Hors.
I have none about me. Come to my ostry, and I'll
give them you.


Me.
Be gone quickly. Horse-courser runs away.


Fau.
What, is he gone? Farewell he. Faustus has his leg
again, and the Horse-courser I take it, a bottle of hey for his
labour. Well, this trick shall cost him forty dollars more.
Enter Wagner.
How now, Wagner; what's the news with thee?


Wag.
Sir, the Duke of Vanholt doth earnestly entreat
your company.


Fau.
The Duke of Vanholt! an honourable gentleman,
to whom I must be no niggard of my cunning. Come, Me-
phistophilis, let's away to him. Exeunt.

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