[Snatches the cup.]

POPE. My wine gone too!--Ye lubbers, look about,
And find the man that doth this villany,
Or, by our sanctitude, you all shall die!--
I pray, my lords, have patience at this
Troublesome banquet.

ARCHBISHOP. Please it<134> your Holiness, I think it be some ghost
crept out of Purgatory, and now is come unto your Holiness for his
pardon.

POPE. It may be so.--
Go, then, command our priests to sing a dirge,
To lay the fury of this same troublesome ghost.
[Exit an ATTENDANT.--The POPE crosses himself.]

FAUSTUS. How now! must every bit be spic'd with a cross?--
Nay, then, take that.
[Strikes the POPE.]

POPE. O, I am slain!--Help me, my lords!
O, come and help to bear my body hence!--
Damn'd be his<135> soul for ever for this deed!
[Exeunt all except FAUSTUS and MEPHISTOPHILIS.]

MEPHIST. Now, Faustus, what will you do now? for I can tell you
you'll be cursed with bell, book, and candle.

FAUSTUS. Bell, book, and candle,--candle, book, and bell,--