_Another complaint of Doctor Faustus_
Oh poor, woeful and weary wretch: oh sorrowful soul of Faustus, now art
thou in the number of the damned, for now must I wait for unmeasurable
pains of death, yea far more lamentable than ever yet any creature hath
suffered. Ah senseless, wilful and desperate forgetfulness! O cursed
and unstable life! O blind and careless wretch, that so hast abused thy
body, sense, and soul! O foolish pleasure, into what a weary labyrinth
hast thou brought me, blinding mine eyes in the clearest day? Ah weak
heart! O troubled soul, where is become thy knowledge to comfort
thee? O pitiful weariness! Oh desperate hope, now shall I never more
be thought upon! Oh, care upon carefulness, and sorrows on heaps: Ah
grievous pains that pierce my panting heart, whom is there now that can
deliver me? Would God that I knew where to hide me, or into what place
to creep or fly. Ah, woe, woe is me, be where I will, yet am I taken.
Herewith poor Faustus was so sorrowfully troubled, that he could not
speak or utter his mind any further.