_Pope_. Write down nine gold ducats, Bishop; and then let us drink absolution to those priests who shall pay the sum. Each guest filled his glass, and exclaimed in chorus, "Absolutio! dispensatio!" * * * * * _A Nun_. Ha; what means all this? Will no one think of us? Holy father, have we alone no claim to your paternal favour? I entreat you to let us be taxed also, in order that we may sin in peace. _Pope_. Right, my daughter; and you shall not be dealt with more hardly than the priests. Bishop, write down: Absolution for each nun who shall commit carnal sin, be it with whom it may, within or out of the circle of the cloister; with fall capacity of assuming any conventual dignity when called upon so to do: nine ducats. _Chorus_. Absolutio! dispensatio! _A Bishop_. Absolution and dispensation to each priest who publicly keeps a mistress: five ducats. Lucretia then interposed: "Absolution for carnal knowledge, the enormity of which is indicated by fifteen ducats." Faustus, whom this scene had horribly mortified, on account of the triumph which it afforded the Devil over him, but who, nevertheless, wished to have a hit at Borgia, exclaimed, with a voice of thunder, "Absolution to any parricide, matricide, or fratricide, for three ducats." _Pope_. Ho, ho, friend; what are you aiming at now? Will you tax murder lower than fornication? _Caesar Borgia_. Holy father, he does not wish, by too high a penalty, to deter men from the commission of the crime. _Devil_. You are well aware, gentlemen, that the poor are incapable of receiving benefit from any of the above-named absolutions and dispensations. _Chorus_ (_amidst shouts of laughter_). Damnation to him who has no money! _Caesar Borgia_. Whoever commits theft, be it sacrilege or not, shall have his soul secured from damnation, upon depositing in the papal treasury three parts of what he has stolen. _Chorus_. Absolution to all thieves, sacrilegious or not, provided they share their booty with the Pope. _Pope_. Thou hast opened a rich mine, Caesar. Write that down, Bishop. _Faustus_. Absolution to any one who shall practise magic, or enter into an alliance with the Devil. How high shall I tax that, father? _Pope_. My son, you will not, by this last article, enrich the papal treasury. The fiend does not understand his own advantage; we call upon him in vain. _Faustus_. But provided that should so happen, how high, I repeat? _Pope_. For rarity's sake, one hundred ducats. _Faustus_. Here they are; and now write me out an absolution, that I may be able to shake it in the face of the Devil, provided I ever sell myself to him. _Chorus_. Absolution to him who shall sell himself to the fiend.