_How Dr. Faustus bewailed to think on Hell, and the miserable Pains
therein provided for him._
Now thou Faustus, damned wretch! how happy wert thou if, as an unreasonable
beast, thou mightest die with a soul? so shouldest thou not feel any
more doubts; but now the devil will take thee away, both body and soul,
and set thee in an unspeakable place of darkness; for although other
souls have rest and peace, yet I, poor damned wretch, must suffer all
manner of filthy stench, pains, cold, hunger, thirst, heat, freezing,
burning, hissing, gnashing, and all the wrath and curse of God; yea,
all the creatures God hath created are enemies to me. And too late I
remember that my spirit Mephistophiles did once tell me there was great
difference amongst the damned, for the greater the sin the greater the
torment; as the twigs of a tree make greater flames than the trunk
thereof, and yet the trunk continueth longer in burning, even so the
more that a man is rooted in sin, the greater is his punishment. Ah!
thou perpetual damned wretch! how art thou thrown into the everlasting
fiery lake that shall never be quenched! there must I dwell in all
manner of wailing, sorrow, misery, pain, torment, grief, howling,
sighing, sobbing, running at the eyes, stinking at the nose, gnashing of
teeth, snare to the ears, horror to the conscience, and shaking both of
hand and foot? Ah! that I could carry the heavens upon my shoulders, so
that there were time at last to quit me of this everlasting damnation.
Oh! what can deliver me out of the fearful tormenting flame, the which I
see prepared for me? Oh! there is no help, nor can any man deliver me;
nor my wailing of sins can help me; neither is there rest for me to be
found day or night! Ah! woe is me! for there is no help for me, no
shield, no defence, no comfort; where is my help? Knowledge dare I not
trust; and for a soul to Godwards, that have I not, for I ashame to
speak unto him; if I do, no answer shall be made me; but he will hide
his face from me, to the end that I should not behold the joys of the
chosen. What mean I then to complain, where no help is? No, I know no
hope resteth in my groanings; I had desired it would be so, and God hath
said, Amen, to my misdoings; for now I must have shame to comfort me in
my calamities.