_Faustus_. Yes, be they mine. I will lay them in the scale against my sins. Hasten, and be firm. Be thou the arrow of my vengeance. Seize the favourite and hurl him among the sands of burning Libya, so that he may perish by inches. _Devil_. Only private revenge, and spite in finding thyself deceived, drive thee to this. _Faustus_. Babbling fiend! It is a solitary remnant of what you call my youthful prejudices which inspires me with angry thoughts at the sight of any atrocious act. If I could have seen and tolerated the wickedness of men, should I have wanted thee? Hasten and obey. The Devil suffocated the Prince on his magnificent couch, then seized the trembling favourite and hurled him among the burning sands of Libya. He then returned to Faustus, and cried, "The deed is done!" They once more mounted the rapid winds, and sailed out of the country. Faustus sat, melancholy, upon his horse; for, after they had passed the frontiers, the Devil had changed their method of travelling. The history of the minister still gnawed his heart, and he was stung to the quick at being obliged to acknowledge that the Devil had as yet been right in respect to men; and the bitterness of his spirit increased in proportion as they displayed themselves to him in their true colours. Yet the idea of having avenged the unfortunate minister upon the hypocrites cheered him in the midst of his gloomy sorrows. Pride by degrees so inflated his heart, that he almost began to consider his alliance with the Devil as the act of a man who yields up his soul for the good of his race, and thereby surpasses all the heroes of antiquity, who merely sacrificed their temporal existence; nay more, for as they sacrificed themselves for the sake of glory, or for a recompense,--which he, on account of his engagement, could entertain no hopes of,--so at last he imagined that they were not worthy to stand for a moment in comparison with him. Thus, place men in whatever situation you will, they soon begin to feel happy, provided their self-love has an opportunity of working; for self-love can even gild the yawning gulf of hell, as in the case of Faustus. He forgot, in his pride, the motives of his alliance with the Devil, and his thirst for pleasure and enjoyment; and while he sat upon his horse, his imagination dubbed him the knight-errant of virtue and the champion of innocence. The Devil rode by his side without once disturbing his meditations; for he only saw in each of these would-be noble feelings the sources of future torment and despair. His hatred of Faustus, however, increased in proportion as the ideal prospects of the latter brightened and expanded; he enjoyed, in anticipation, the hour when all these airy visions would melt and disappear, and all these painted images of fancy would deck themselves in the livery of hell, and tear the rash one's heart as the heart of mortal had never yet been torn. After a long