_The third parley between Doctor Faustus and Mephostophiles about a
conclusion_
After Doctor Faustus had made his promise to the Devil, in the morning
betimes he called the Spirit before him and commanded him that he
should always come to him like a Friar, after the order of Saint
Francis, with a bell in his hand like Saint Anthony, and to ring it
once or twice before he appeared, that he might know of his certain
coming: Then Faustus demanded the Spirit, what was his name? The
Spirit answered, my name is as thou sayest, Mephostophiles, and I am
a prince, but servant to Lucifer: and all the circuit from Septentrio
to the Meridian, I rule under him. Even at these words was this wicked
wretch Faustus inflamed, to hear himself to have gotten so great a
Potentate to be his servant, forgot the Lord his maker, and Christ his
redeemer, became an enemy unto all mankind, yea, worse than the Giants
whom the Poets feign to climb the hills to make war with the Gods: not
unlike that enemy of God and his Christ, that for his pride was cast
into Hell: so likewise Faustus forgot that the high climbers catch the
greatest falls, and that the sweetest meat requires the sourest sauce.
After a while, Faustus promised Mephostophiles to write and make his
Obligation, with full assurance of the Articles in the Chapter before
rehearsed. A pitiful case, (Christian Reader), for certainly this
Letter or Obligation was found in his house after his most lamentable
end, with all the rest of his damnable practices used in his whole
life. Therefore I wish all Christians to take an example by this wicked
Faustus, and to be comforted in Christ, contenting themselves with that
vocation whereunto it hath pleased God to call them, and not to esteem
the vain delights of this life, as did this unhappy Faustus, in giving
his Soul to the Devil: and to confirm it the more assuredly, he took a
small penknife, and pricked a vein in his left hand, and for certainty
thereupon, were seen on his hand these words written, as if they had
been written with blood, Ô HOMO FUGE: whereat the Spirit vanished,
but Faustus continued in his damnable mind, and made his writing as
followeth.