And again, in Part 2, Act 1, Scene 1, Morton declares: And they did fight with queasiness, constrain’d, As men drink potions. In these previously cited instances, in the Shakespearean contexts, it is evident that the term potion had often a malefic connotation, implying venom and destruction in its use. But it was equally a term of amatory and sensual significance, associated largely with physiological refreshment. In _Dr. Faustus_, Christopher Marlowe’s drama, the protagonist, passionately eager to embrace all knowledge that offers power, that is, the thaumaturgic and necromantic skills, exclaims: ’Tis magic, magic that hath ravished me. He then proceeds, after his pact with Mephistopheles, to demand the implementation of the conditions. He is aroused erotically, and commands: let me have a wife, The fairest maid in Germany; For I am wanton and lascivious, And cannot live without a wife Mephistopheles, virtually a pander, suggesting provocative amatory delights, promises: Tut, Faustus, Marriage is but a ceremonial toy; And if thou lovest me, think no more of it. I’ll cull thee out the fairest courtesans, And bring them every morning to thy bed; She whom thine eye shall like, thy heart shall have, Be she as chaste as was Penelope, And as wise as Saba, or as beautiful As was bright Lucifer before his fall. In a later scene, Robin the Ostler appears with one of Dr. Faustus’ grimoires: Robin: Oh, this is admirable! here I ha’ stolen one of Doctor Faustus’ conjuring books, and i’ faith I mean to search some circles for my own use. Now will I make all the maidens in our parish dance at my pleasure, stark-naked before me; and so by that means I shall see more than e’er I felt or saw yet. Enter Rafe calling Robin. Rafe: Robin, prithee, come away; there’s a gentleman tarries to have his horse, and he would have his things rubbed and made clean: he keeps such a chafing with my mistress about it; and she has sent me to look thee out. Prithee, come away. Robin: Keep out, keep out, or else you are blown up; you are dismembered, Rafe: keep out, for I am about a roaring piece of work. Rafe: Come, what dost thou with that same book? Thou cans’t not read. Robin: Yes, my master and mistress shall find that I can read, he for his forehead, she for her private study; she’s born to bear with me, or else my art fails. Rafe: Why, Robin, what book is that? Robin: What book! Why, the most intolerable book for conjuring that e’er was invented by any brimstone devil. Rafe: Can’st thou conjure with it?